Catharsis
by Behind Blue Eyes BBE
Summary: Marriage is a winding road, filled with bumps and ruts.  Will and Buffy Pratt's marriage was no different.  How can one incident change their loving relationship into one of misunderstandings and hurt.  Can they move on and start anew?
1. Chapter 1: Cold

_"Every issue, belief, attitude or assumption is precisely the issue that stands between you and your relationship to another human being; and between you and yourself."_

Unknown Author

Three hours had passed since she'd started this trip, and it was close to midnight. Buffy continued steadily traveling along one of the many desolate, snow and ice-covered roads of Big Bear Mountain. Her eyes remained wide and fixed on the road before her, attempting to see through the veil of heavy snowfall. Her tight, rigid grip on the steering wheel pulled the skin on her knuckles taut, giving the appearance of jagged teeth jutting from her clenched fists.

Buffy pressed forward, inwardly cursing her husband or soon to be ex-husband for making her come all this way, especially, in this weather. All that ceased when she noticed on the left the entrance for the long winding road that would take her to her destination and hopefully, let her accomplish what she'd come there to do.

She slowed her Volvo to a mere crawl before turning onto the dirt road. Buffy took a deep breath and braced herself for the bone-jarring potholes she knew littered the long driveway.

Going strictly from memory, she missed most of them, but she still cursed when her wheels dipped suddenly into ones she had forgotten. She had told Will dozens of times to have this paved or at the very least, fill the holes. Well, add this to the long list of hundreds of other things that she had said over the years that he'd never listened to, remembered to do or even cared about.

"Doesn't matter now, after tonight I'll never be here again. He can ruin the suspension on his own truck. I couldn't care less," Buffy murmured before she made a noise much like a growl, while hitting another unseen gap in the road. This one felt as though it were the size of a crater when her car tilted to the side. The sudden jarring motion caused Buffy's teeth to sink into the tip of her tongue. Several more holes and a stinging tongue later, she finally reached her destination.

The drive was horrible, especially on a night like tonight, but Buffy found herself staring in awe at the house before her. She loved this place. Despite it being in the middle of the woods, this place always seemed like it truly belonged here, almost as if the forest itself had created it. When she and Will had found this place four years ago, it was a single room log cabin with no heat, running water or indoor plumbing. It was used as a small shack that guys would rent out for the weekend so they could get away from their families, get drunk and maybe even fish or hunt.

Buffy fell in love with it the moment they drove around the bend. It almost seemed magical, like the heavy trees parted and the sun shone a little brighter on the small shack when they arrived. It felt like the place itself was welcoming them there. She remembered the day they first came here.

Even before the car stopped, Buffy had jumped out like a kid on her first vacation. Despite how run down the place looked, Buffy envisioned the possibilities and told Will of each and every one excitedly as they circled the place. Will, not even looking once at the house, his eyes remaining transfixed on his excited wife, told the broker they would take it before they even stepped inside.

A year later, after non-stop renovations, it was transformed into a three bedroom, two-story home with an open floor plan, two full baths and a Jacuzzi located on the back portion of the wraparound porch. Both she and Will agreed they wanted all the comforts of home, but needed to retain the charm that made them fall in love with the place when they first saw it. Together, with the contractors and an architect, they made their dream possible.

Buffy hadn't been here in almost two years. The first year of the two, was because she was trying to save their failing marriage in LA. The second year, because after the horrible first year, he had moved out of their place in LA and made this house his permanent home.

Buffy gazed forlornly at the beautiful house she loved once more before killing the engine. Gathering her purse and more importantly the paperwork lying on the passenger's seat, she pulled the key from the ignition and got out of the car.

The cold winter air slammed into her lungs like a freight train, almost stealing her breath. She had been driving for over three hours in a car with the heat on full blast and had almost forgotten how cold it was outside. Plus, when she left LA, it was a balmy 55 degrees and raining. Once she began ascending the mountain, the rain changed to snow, and it felt as if the temperature had dropped at least 30 degrees.

Buffy rounded the car quickly, well as quickly as one can go on a snow-covered ground, and popped the trunk. Luckily, she had a pair of gloves and hat stored there. Sliding her already frozen fingers into the gloves, she pocketed the hat, closed the trunk, and headed toward the house.

With careful steps, Buffy ambled down the slick walkway and up the equally slippery stairs. Gratefully, the front porch light was on and the living room was lit. She rang the bell. She heard the numerous chimes echoing through the house, and tried waiting patiently as she felt the cold seeping through her clothing and clinging to her now shivering body.

Not being able to wait for a moment longer, she walked down the porch to look into the living room window. She noticed in the hearth a roaring fire, and a newly opened bottle of Jack on the coffee table. Knowing Will would never leave these unattended for very long, especially the Jack, she rang the bell again and tried the doorknob, finding it locked.

Buffy decided Will was probably ignoring the door, since he was never too pleased with unexpected visitors. His thoughts on people just stopping by were to ignore them and eventually they'd go away. He felt if the person were truly your friend, they would have the decency to call first.

Since she hadn't called to tell him that she was coming, she guessed now was as good as any. Buffy pulled her purse forward to retrieve her cell, but before she could release the zipper, she heard several loud yells from the back of the house. Without a moments thought, she rushed down the stairs and headed toward and down the cleared path to the backyard.

Following shortly after the string of yells, was Will's famous expletive "Bloody hell!" that instantly caused Buffy to snicker and shake her head as she slowed her pace. She knew he wasn't too hurt since he was swearing. With unhurried steps, she approached the area lit by bright floodlights, the woodshed.

Looking inside, she noticed Will with his fingers jammed inside his mouth. She assumed with all the yelling and him sucking on his fingers, he was attempting to soothe the pain of hurting himself. Buffy gathered due to where he was and the log lying at his feet, he most likely dropped a piece of wood on the now injured digits.

"Well, you're lucky you don't have neighbors or they would think you were reenacting some cheesy horror movie with all that screaming."

Buffy's voice startled him. With an unmanly "ahhh!" spilling from around his fingers, Will spun around quickly, almost loosing his balance when turning toward the unexpected voice. He glared at her wide-eyed, before they narrowed, and he pulled his fingers from his mouth quickly.

"It's not very nice sneaking up on people, yeah? Anyway, what are you doin' up here, thought you hated the snow?" _Or more so me._

"Well, hello to you too. And I wasn't sneaking, was walking, totally different vibe. Plus, I don't hate the snow. I hate the cold that accompanies said snow."

_You thought after being together for seven years he should know this. Well, that doesn't matter now, along with his truck that's going to bottom out on that shitty driveway._

While Buffy was lost in her thoughts briefly, her gaze remained fixed with her husband's while trying to gauge his reaction to her being there.

"Whatever, you didn't drive three hours to discuss the weather. So why are you 'ere exactly?"

"Fine, straight to business, glad we agree on something. I'm here, since it has become painful obvious that all my phone calls, emails, texts, tweets and what-have you apparently don't work. After hundreds of attempts, I've decided that in person was the only way to get this done," Buffy huffed while her cold feet shifted in the snow causing it to crunch under the soles of her leather boots.

"And _this_ would be, Buffy?"

"You know exactly what _this_ is, Will. I want you to sign those papers that were sent to you over six months ago. And before you ask 'what papers?' let me clarify, they're the divorce papers."


	2. Chapter 2: Uninvited Guest

_"Marriage is like putting your hand into a bag of snakes in the hope of pulling out an eel."_

Leonardo da Vinci

It's amazing how a single sentence can change your life in a matter of moments. This is what Will had just experienced. It shouldn't have really surprised him since, as a writer, he made his living with words.

Seeing his estranged wife standing in the snow looking like a vision, created an elaborate fantasy within his mind. For a moment he imagined Buffy was there to reconcile. Maybe they would even have a conversation that went beyond obligatory or false pleasantries and forced, clipped answers. Unfortunately, what he saw in his mind's eye crumbled instantly when her words pierced his ears and shattered his illusion.

He knew he was largely to blame for their failed marriage and why she always seemed piqued when it came to dealing with him. She had every reason to hate him, but she didn't, not his Buffy. Even after he hadn't been there for her during one of the most devastating moments of her life, she had forgiven him. She had absolved him of the inexcusable act and in spite of it, tried to salvage their marriage. However, he felt she should have never forgiven him, and that's why he decided to change.

From that day on, he no longer let his or other's emotions and pleasures rule his world. His decisions were made with his head only. That was the only way to keep her safe. No, he couldn't blame her for their marriage ending, even though he would never tell her that. He had to keep some semblance of pride, didn't he?

With a huff, Will began to pace. His Docs leaving large tread marks in the freshly fallen snow. "I see. Well, I have to say, thanks for waiting till after Christmas to shite on me. 'Cause God knows right before the New Year is a much better time!"

"Look Will, don't pull that crap on me! If you'd signed them when Lindsey originally sent them to you, it would've been during the summer. Six months ago!"

Will stopped pacing abruptly, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched while he fought against and eventually tamped down the intense, bottled up emotions screaming for release.

When Will started to pace, Buffy assumed her defensive, closed-off position. He finally stopped pacing and turned to face her. Will noticed the change in her instantly, her rigid back, her arms crossed over her chest, lips formed in a tight line, her gaze hardened and fixed on him. Several moments of silence grew between them only their breathing and the sounds of the night filled the air.

Will knew she would rather freeze then give in to him, so he relented. He closed his eyes briefly, breaking their stare. Despite how much he tried to deny their marriage was over, he knew he couldn't any longer. The end was here, and he had to put on his big boy pants and face the inevitable.

"Okay, fine. I'll sign the papers. But first, I need to finish what I started before you arrived. News bloke said tonight, and the next few days are supposed to be really cold ones. I don't fancy havin' to come out 'ere to collect more bundles of wood."

Buffy eyed her soon to be ex-husband briefly. She thought she had seen a glimpse of the old Will there for a moment, the man full of passion and fire, but as soon as he shown himself, he'd disappeared just as quickly. She decided since he was finally agreeing to do what she had been waiting six months for him to do, it was important to keep him on track and not try to discuss what she may or may not have witnessed.

"Good, you do that. Once your done, come in so you can sign the papers, then I'll be outta your hair and on my way." Releasing her stance, Buffy nodded her head and turned to walk toward the house where she'd planned on waiting for him.

"Wait, where you goin'? Unless you want to wait at least an hour before I'll be able to sign them, then by all means head in. But if you want to get outta here faster, I suggest you help by bringin' in some wood." Will motioned to the woodshed while he informed Buffy of her options.

"No, that's fine, I'll wait. You're a big boy. You can handle your wood all by yourself," Buffy called offhandedly over her shoulder as she continued toward the house.

While Buffy ascended the stairs, Will's sudden urge to have the last words had him yelling a response before his brain could stop them from coming out.

"Oh, you and I both know I'm a very_ big_ boy, and I'll have you know I can handle my wood just fine all by myself! Been doin' it a lot over the past year, thanks to you!"

Buffy stilled, while a small smile crept across her lips from his words. _That_ was something the old Will would say, no question about it. She contemplated briefly whether she should respond. Knowing him like she did, she decided against it. Since her responding would only fuel him to talk more and that would make what needed to be done even harder to do. After her decision, she continued toward and up the stairs. She entered through the door, closing it firmly behind her.

Once the door closed the warmth of room, along with her memories, enveloped Buffy. With her gaze taking in all that surrounded her, she pulled off her snow-covered boots, jacket and gloves and began to wander around the room.

Looking around briefly, she instantly noticed he hadn't changed a thing. Each piece of furniture, rug, and decorative accent was where she'd placed it three years ago. Buffy was amazed when she spied the throw pillows, the same ones he constantly complained about, hadn't moved an inch. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips while she remembered how she mulled over every decision she made on each piece that went into the house. Everything from the furniture, to the flatware, to the sheets, was an important choice.

During the two month long weekend excursions, as Buffy dragged him from store to store, Will would constantly complain saying, "It's only a bloody this or that, luv, just make a decision cause we have a thousand other things you have to decide on." Knowing this to be true, Buffy would give him a thorough kiss, taking his breath away along with his complaints. She followed each kiss by whispered promises of pleasure when they got home. Once she pulled away, he would have a goofy smile on his face, and she knew she had another hour, maybe two before he would complain again.

Still exploring the room, Buffy caught a glimpse of herself as she walked past the large, oval mirror hanging on the furthest wall. Instantly, she noticed the crown of her head was completely soaked, and the snow that was once perched there was now melting and dripping onto the floor and the shoulders of her form-fitting black sweater. Feeling she had no right to go through his stuff, even though technically it was still their stuff, Buffy walked over to the window and briefly looked toward the woodshed making sure he was busy and not coming in anytime soon, before she quickly headed upstairs to the bathroom to retrieve a towel for her hair.

Turning on the light in the hallway, it felt like she hadn't been away for two years. Everything still looked and felt the same, down to the silver framed pictures hanging on the walls. Entering into the bathroom, Buffy observed that this room had changed only in one way, instead of her beauty products littering the countertop only his toiletries were there. Reaching into the linen closet, she pulled out a fluffy, burgundy towel and headed downstairs quickly before the niggling from her curiosity about their, no _his_ bedroom and what it looked like, got the best of her.

While descending the stairs, Buffy rubbed the towel briskly through her sodden locks. Once she reached the bottom, a loud thud from outside startled her. Walking cautiously to the window, she noticed Will stomping back down the stairs muttering to himself about getting no help and "bloody well shouldn't be surprised." With a snicker, Buffy headed over to the fireplace. Sitting by the hearth she began basking in the warmth given off by the flames.

Several moments later, another loud thud and more muttering followed. This time, strangely, she didn't find it as funny. On the third thud, Buffy decided that despite not wanting him to see her visit more than what it was, it was really cold out there and if she wanted to get out of there quicker, helping him was the only way.

Before Will could drop the fourth bundle of wood, Buffy had redressed in her outerwear and exited the house. Without a word, she headed down the stairs and over to the woodshed to help him bring the wood onto the porch. Grabbing as much as she could carry, Buffy headed out. When she walked past, Will nodded his thanks to her. Twenty minutes passed before they had enough wood piled on the porch to last several days, even the really cold ones that were forecasted.

Breaking the lengthy silence as he ascended the stairs with his arms full with another bundle of wood, he spoke to Buffy who stood off to the side of the pile, brushing away stray pieces of wood shavings from her clothes. "'M gonna start bringin' some of the wood inside, do you mind grabbin' one more armful?"

"Yeah, not a problem." Following her agreement, Buffy opened the door for him before she headed back down the stairs. Will, slightly taken back by her thoughtfulness, continued inside with the bundle of wood, closing the door behind him with his foot.

Entering the woodshed, Buffy chose a side to pull from. Standing before the pile, she squatted down slightly while carefully placing one log in the crux of her arm. The floodlights attached to the house, bathed the inside of the shed with enough light that a light fixture wasn't needed. After carefully placing another log, Buffy reached out for the third. Her hand brushed against a stick or so she thought. The instant her hand touched it, it moved of its own accord and started to hiss. Buffy dropped the logs she held instantly and with a piercing scream, ran out of the shed.

Will, hearing Buffy screaming, dropped the logs he held, hurried to the door, pulling it open quickly. Leaving the door open, he had forgone the stairs, leaping down to the snowy path below. Once he landed, he ran toward the still screaming woman.

"Snake in the woodshed! Snake in the woodshed!" Buffy screeched, running straight toward him, her arms flailing. Due to the slick ground and Buffy's overwhelming fear, she crashed into Will's body with enough force to almost knock both of them down. He grabbed her and wrapped his hands around her upper arms tightly. This served two purposes, to steady her trembling body and attempt to calm her.

"What the bloody hell happened? You all right?" Will's eyes darted quickly over her body trying to see if she had any injuries. Once his questions reached her ears, Buffy started to struggle.

"Snake in the woodshed!"

Despite Will being only an arms length away, Buffy repeated her earlier words in the same manner—screaming them. Her eyes were wide and wild as she continued to struggle, trying to break his hold so she could run as far away as possible.

"Wait here, I'll check it out," Will instructed trying to sound manly, even though snakes gave him the willies too. Before entering into the shed, he decided he needed a weapon of some sort. Noticing the perfect weapon, Will walked over to the stump that had his splitting maul's blade imbedded into the top. Jerking on the handle, he pulled it out, and headed over to the shed. Walking in cautiously, he moved slowly toward a shelf that held a flashlight. Pulling it off the shelf, he turned it on, and moved the beam of light throughout the shed looking for the snake.

After several sweeps of the beam, he found the cause of Buffy's screams. Despite the snake being curled into a tight ball attempting to remain unseen, its black beady eyes that reflected the light gave it away instantly. With a chuckle, he approached the snake and grabbed it before it could slither away. Will exited the shed, while the snake wrapped its agile body around his gloved hand. Holding his snake-adorned hand up in the air, he called over to Buffy, who was now inside, peering out the slightly opened door.

"Is this what caused all the yellin'? It's only a Mountain King snake, Buffy. He's just a harmless bloke, well, unless you're a mouse or some such. There's no reason to worry at all. Come out and give my snake a pet."

After hearing Will's suggestion, Buffy's eyes widened before yelling her response. Despite the distance that separated them, he heard very clearly what her thoughts on that were.

"Go fuck yourself!"

Scoffing at her response, Will looked down at the animal coiled tightly around his hand. "Don't feel bad, mate, she hasn't petted my snake in a long time either. Well, can't blame a bloke for tryin'. Ok, Mr. Snake, back to the woodshed with you. See you in the spring."

Will turned and headed back to the shed, hearing Buffy slamming the door behind him. After placing the snake back onto the woodpile, he watched as it slithered away quickly, attempting to find another spot to hibernate in. Holding the splitting maul by the handle, he carried it to the porch and laid it against the significant pile he and Buffy had made. Standing on the threshold of the door, he banged his snow-covered boots together trying to shake off excess snow before heading inside.

Buffy had moved from the door, her outerwear gone, and she now was standing behind the kitchen counter. She held in her hand a large, cast iron skillet that was raised in the air. Her voice held a menacing quality as she threateningly waved the cookware toward him.

"I swear, William James Pratt, if you brought that fucking thing in this house, I will break every bone in your body! Kathy Bates' character will have nothin' on me, when I go completely _Misery_ on you're pasty ass!"

Despite her seemingly joking words, Will knew instantly by the intense look in her eyes she was completely serious. In order to calm her down, Will held up his hands showing her that he hadn't brought the snake in. Buffy still didn't believe him, so she made him turn out all his pockets, even the ones in his jeans, and turn over his boots. Finally, she lowered the skillet and placed it on the kitchen counter before going into the living room.

Sitting on the couch with a loud huff, she eyed him while he peeled off his wet jacket and gloves, before he headed over to the fireplace. Standing before the flames, Will held out his hands trying to soak up the heat as he silently hoped the feeling would come back to his frozen digits quickly. Following several moments with the chasm of silence between them growing, Will turned slightly toward Buffy while his hands remained raised basking in the flames.

"You know, they're completely harmless. Haven't you ever heard the sayin', "Red and yellow kills a fellow. Red and black are safe for Jack?" Plus, do you really think I'm completely daft enough to be handlin' a poisonous snake?"

Buffy's meticulously shaped brow rose while she gave him a poignant look. He knew what her answer to that question was. Laughing briefly, Will ran his fingers through his hair. "Fine, I'm a bloody dolt and have done my fair share of stupid things."

Suddenly, Will's expression changed from one of humor to completely somber. As he spoke all the mirth was gone from his voice, replaced by a soft but firm tone, when he added, "But I would never purposely hurt you."

Buffy knew that his words were referring to hurting her on levels, far deeper than scaring her with a snake. She could see all his emotions swirling around in his stormy blue eyes. Buffy swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat after becoming instantly lost in his gaze. Will always had a way to speak volumes without saying a word. It was his eyes. These two fathomless pools of blue were indeed the windows to his soul.

It suddenly became all too much, especially since she hadn't seen passion in those eyes for so long. She had waited years after that horrible night for him to return to the man he was before, but he never did. Will had said "I'm sorry" countless times, in dozens of ways, and she had forgiven him. The problem was, he never forgave himself nor her for what had happened.

He kept himself in an emotional cocoon, never wanting to get too close. She believed he wanted to give the impression he was trying to protect her while he kept her at arm's length, but she knew the truth. He couldn't bear touching her, and he blamed her for what had happened. Each day, instead of this tragedy bringing them closer, they drifted further apart. Their once loving words became bitter and hurtful. Which lead, even in the sweltering heat of California's summers, to cold days and even colder nights.

Lowering her eyes, she broke from their fixed gaze before she would become completely lost within his penetrating stare and forget the reason for her being there. She was there for one reason and one reason only, to finally end the suffering caused by anger and the distance between them. After all this time they both deserved to finally find some peace.

Author's Notes:

Yeah, I know not as uplifting as you would've liked, but I did try to make it funny-at least in the middle...right? Oh, if the "snake in the woodshed" seems deja vu-ish, it is one comes from one of many insane ramblings of Drusilla's. This was from Season 2 Angel episode _Dear Boy_. I know my usage of this was not how Dru intended it, when she was describing Angelus and Darla having sex, but I loved it so much and I feel I found a great way to use it! Reviews are loved and cherished!


	3. Chapter 3: The End

_"This is the end, Beautiful friend __  
><em>_This is the end, My only friend, the end__  
><em>_Of our elaborate plans, the end__  
><em>_Of everything that stands, the end__  
><em>_No safety or surprise, the end__  
><em>_I'll never look into your eyes...again…"_

Excerpt from _The End_ by the Doors

Will knew when her gaze left his, it was truly the end. From this moment on their lives were destined to travel on different paths. Buffy in LA and he in this home that was no longer theirs. Once Will felt the inevitable tears prickling his eyes, he turned his gaze toward the flames in an attempt to conceal the effect her actions were having on him.

He'd kept a tight rein on his emotions from the moment he saw her standing in the snow. In that moment, he'd truly felt alive for the first time in years. He longed for her touch, to see her smile, to hear her kind words and infectious, tinkling laughter. He longed for everything that was her and for the man he used to be. The one she'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

Will thought briefly back to the first six months of their separation. He'd believed toward the end that he'd come to terms with Buffy remaining in LA and while he was in Big Bear. He knew he missed her, almost painfully so, but he also knew he needed to continue on. Then he received the divorce papers. That day he'd proceeded to drink himself into a stupor, then passed out. Over the next month, his days were all the same—wake up, drink, pass out, wake up, repeat.

The following month he decided he could no longer live at the bottom of a bottle. So, the now moderately sober Will tried a different approach in dealing with Buffy's request for a divorce, living on that famous river in Egypt. It worked well, until he received letters, emails, texts, or what-have-yous from her. Trying to continue in his blissful state of ignorance, he would erase, lose, or delete them, in the hopes it would all go away. He should have known it wouldn't. Of course, he had known it wouldn't. His Buffy was persistent. Well, she's wasn't his—not any more.

Clearing away thoughts of the past, Will brought his mind to the present. Swallowing hard, past the lump that had formed in his throat, he took a deep cleansing breath in preparation to speak. Once the words finally came out, he was surprised to hear how calm and even they sounded, in respect to the turbulence he felt inside.

"Well, thanks for helpin' with the wood, but I know you have a long drive back to LA. So, shall we get on with it?"

Despite how level Will tried making his voice sound, Buffy knew beyond any doubt he was hurting. Even after all their time apart, she could still sense how he felt. Before he emotionally closed himself off to her two years ago, his feelings were very evident. His facial expressions, body language, or his expressive eyes, always told her everything she needed to know. His emotions were so strong and all consuming, like a maelstrom drawing her in and submerging her in everything that was him.

After all this time, she could feel once again his emotions surrounding her. Despite how desperately she wanted to let them sweep her away and for them to push past all the hurt, she knew this moment was fleeting. She knew if she went to him, things would be good, at least for a little while. Then he would shut her out once more, and she couldn't handle his emotional exile any longer.

This had to be done now. Now, when she finally had enough strength to finish what she'd set out to do. With her resolve firmly in place, Buffy stood and walked away from him, heading over to her purse. She removed a pen from the pocket of the leather bag before lifting it up and pulling out the document from underneath it. Taking a deep breath, she turned back toward Will. With a pen in one hand and the papers in the other, she approached him.

Will was now facing her with the fire at his back. She could see his whole body stiffen at her approach. His hands balled into tight fists, and his jaw clenched. His usually full lips were drawn into a firm line, while his gaze focused solely on what she held in her hands. It almost appeared as if he were preparing himself for an execution. Well, this was a death of sorts, the death of their marriage.

Buffy rounded the opposite side of the coffee table from where he was standing and sat on the couch. She placed the two items onto the surface of the table. Will's gaze remained fixed on what she had laid before him as he sat down. After several tense moments, Will lifted the proffered pen slowly. With a resigned sigh, he plunged down the button on the pen's end, to engage the tip, before flipping the cover to expose the front page. Without a word, his eyes began scanning the words before him. Once his eyes appeared to have reached the end of the first page, he flipped to the next page to resume reading.

They sat in gut-wrenching silence for at least 10 minutes before Will finished the last page. He raised his eyes and locked them with Buffy's while his deep voice broke through the quiet.

"Everythin' seems to look the same as it did over six months ago. You sure you're not wantin' more than this?"

Buffy wanted to tell him she didn't want anything on those pages, all she wanted was him. However, these words were frozen in her throat. She knew she had to be strong. Not trusting her voice, Buffy nodded. She could tell Will was trying to be equally strong as she witnessed his features harden with resolve.

"Right, so where do I sign?"

"You need to initial on each page, then sign the last." Buffy was taken aback by the unsteadiness of her voice. She knew it was partly from lack of use, but more so from all the emotions warring inside her.

Will flipped back to the first page and placed the pen point down to sign. After several attempts, Will snickered half-heartily, before looking up at Buffy.

"Seems this pen doesn't wanna work. I have one in my office upstairs; be back in a minute." Without waiting for her response, Will stood and headed toward the stairs.

If one believed that all things happen for a reason, one could say, the pen not working was a sign. A sign this divorce shouldn't happen. A sign they should remain together, and this was just plain wrong.

Buffy quickly pushed away these thoughts, focusing on the reality of the here and now, not on what ifs and signs. At that moment Will returned with several pens in hand. Following an offhanded remark of "Just in case," he placed them on the table. Choosing one from the many laid out before him, he proceeded to initial each page before signing the last.

Following the last stroke of his pen, Will laid it on the table and compiled all the pages before looking up at Buffy. He handed them to her without a word. Buffy looked down at pages, feeling their weight in her hands. It was strange, but they felt as if their weight had increased tenfold.

Not knowing what else to say, Buffy murmured a small "Thanks," before standing and headed over to where her jacket was hanging. After placing the paperwork on the floor, Buffy pulled the jacket from the coat rack and slid her arms into the cold leather. All the while her eyes remained focused on the floor. Buffy knew Will had remained on the couch and was looking at her, even though her gaze never left the ground.

She pulled up the zipper of her leather coat slowly. The metal teeth meeting broke through the heavy silence that had returned to the room. She left her gloves off since there were some wood slivers embedded in the material and they were still slightly wet. Buffy picked up the document from the floor and went to retrieve her purse. After removing her keys from the same pocket as the pen, she turned to see Will. He'd left the couch and now stood in the middle of the room. His eyes still trained on her.

Their gazes met for several moments before a small, forced grin graced his lips. Will's smile fell away, and he cleared his throat to speak.

"So, 'm sorta confused on the etiquette here. Do we shake hands or somethin'?"

Taken off guard of him trying to make this uneasy situation less so, Buffy matched his earlier smile as she took several steps forward, her empty words attempting to fill the silence.

"I'm not exactly Emily Post myself. I'm kinda winging it as I go."

Once her voice faded, the awkwardness returned as they continued staring at one another. Following several more uncomfortable moments, Will ran his hand through his hair before uttering, "Sod it!" On the heels of those words, he closed the gap between them in three steps, pulling Buffy into his arms. At first, Buffy didn't return his embrace. Not until his closeness inundated her senses, and the need to hold him became all too much.

Buffy wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and rested her head on his chest as his unique commingled scent of cigarettes, whiskey, and purely Will permeated her nose. She relished the feeling of his warm breath tickling the shell of her ear. When he pulled her tighter into his embrace, the feel of his hard body pressed against hers made every part of her hum with excitement.

Almost instantly being and remaining in his arms became all there was. Then all too soon he was gone. Buffy's body screamed for him to return, yet her mind had its say and demanded her body "Get the hell out of there!" Following her mind, Buffy looked at Will, who was now standing several feet away before giving him another weak smile. Before she could rush back into his arms like she'd longed to do, Buffy turned and made her way to the door. Without looking back, she placed her hand on the knob, opened the door, and stepped into the cold, winter night.

Author's Note:

This is no way, shape, or form the "end" of these two. Don't worry! Reviews are loved and cherished!


	4. Chapter 4: In Too Deep

"_You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow."_

Amy Lowell

Buffy closed the door behind herself and quickly but carefully ambled down the slick stairs, heading toward the pathway leading to the front of the house. In addition to the steadily falling snow, the wind had joined in, making her time outside even more unbearable. With every gust of wind, the flakes struck her face. Each one felt like a small shard of glass as it stung and burned.

As Buffy continued her walk through the bitter cold, she fiercely held her impending breakdown at bay, even though it was screaming for release. With each step, she felt her resolve breaking, but she held strong, increasing her pace when she saw the outline of her car through the veil of white.

Once she reached the car, she noticed a layer of snow covering the metal. When she opened the door, the snow gathered on the jamb slid from its perch and landed at her feet. Stepping through the small pile, she climbed into the driver's seat, not caring about the snow, which once clung to her boots but now littered the bottom of the car.

The sound of the door closing acted as the starting pistol for the tears to begin flowing, and flow they did. Buffy held tightly onto the steering wheel in order to ground herself against the onslaught of tears. The heated drops struck each cheek rapidly, sliding down her face unchecked, while her whole body shook from the combination of being cold and the overwhelming feelings consuming her. After what seemed like an endless time crying, the tears began to subside. Wiping the wetness away, Buffy composed herself enough to decide it was the time to leave.

After several attempts, she controlled her shaky hands long enough to insert the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and the chilly air from the idle heating system blasted into the space causing her to shake more. Quickly, she turned it down to a soft blow in order to allow the heat to return, before turning it back up once more.

Buffy refused to look toward the house. She didn't know if Will was watching her, waiting for her to return. The painful tugging she felt within made it perfectly clear that a part of her wanted to go back into the house and tell him this was a big mistake. This part wanted her to shred the divorce papers into tiny pieces and feed them to the flames. Once that was done, she pictured herself pulling him into her arms and kissing him senseless, then by the light of a roaring fire, making love while they pledged their undying love and devotion to one another. Buffy was well aware this all sounded very harlequin novel-ish, but at this moment her inner romantic was in total control.

That was until the more rational part of her brain had its say. It dredged up the past two lonely years she'd been through. It reminded her of the times when Will was there but not and when they shared living space, but not their lives. Over that time they had become complete strangers. Their once cherished time together now felt like a burden each had to endure, and she loved him too much to let this continue. She knew what had happened tonight was the right choice no matter how much it hurt.

Buffy shook her head as if to clear her thoughts and decided it was time to leave the past behind. With a quick flick of the knob she'd turned on the wipers in order to clear away the snow the defroster hadn't handled. Following several swipes of the blades, the snow pushed to the sides of the windshield, framing it in a mound of white. With a deep breath, Buffy finally allowed herself a parting glance toward the house before putting the car into drive.

With a whispered "Goodbye," Buffy removed her foot from the brake and proceeded to step on the gas. After several moments, her forehead scrunched in confusion. She wasn't moving. Looking down at her foot and confirming she had the right pedal, Buffy stepped harder on the gas. The sound of the wheels turning filled the air, but it seemed in this scenario— spinning tires didn't equal a moving car.

Buffy took her foot off the gas and placed it on the brake. Most likely, her tires were caught on a patch of ice. All she needed to do was pull the car out of the slick area, then she could leave. Proceeding to put the car into reverse, Buffy stepped on the gas once more. Just as earlier the wheels spun, but the car didn't budge. With an aggravated huff, she shifted the car into drive once more—still nothing. Following several attempts of alternating between drive and reverse Buffy knew she had to try a whole new approach, since she hadn't moved an inch.

Throwing the car into park she clambered out of her seat, slamming the door behind her. Trying her best not to slip, Buffy stomped over to the driver's side front tire. Eyeing it with pure malice, she noticed the tire embedded in the snow. Looking down the length of the car to the back tire, she noted it was in the same position.

Even though Buffy was a southern California girl, she knew there wasn't any way she was going anywhere without removing the snow surrounding the tires. Since all her prior attempts had failed, she realized digging them out was the only way. Kicking the tire for good measure Buffy muttered under her breath while pulling her damp, wood-speckled gloves from her pocket. Sliding her hands into the material, she shivered slightly as the cold, wetness covered and seeped into her skin.

Still muttering, Buffy crouched down in front of the tire closest to her. Cupping her hands, she began dragging handfuls of snow away. After several scoops, she could no longer feel her fingers, and her nose had started running. The only thing that kept her going was that she could see her efforts were working, as more of the tire was now exposed. When she felt she'd removed as much as she needed to, Buffy stood and brushed her gloved hands together, trying to remove the clinging snow. Buffy cursed the snow and moved to the rear tire in order to repeat the process.

It seemed as though hours had passed since Buffy's departure, yet Will couldn't find the strength to move. The only movement was the steady rise and fall of his chest, as he took in slow, deep breaths. His gaze remained fixed on the door Buffy had walked out of.

From the moment he threw caution to the wind and pulled Buffy into his arms, he tried committing every detail about her to memory, no matter how small. How her body went rigid momentarily before relaxing and molding into his embrace. How she nuzzled her cheek against his cotton-covered chest, while her warm breaths penetrated the fabric, tickling his sensitive flesh underneath. The way her smile, even one filled with sadness, still warmed his heart and soul.

Once he had filed all these details away, the emotions attached to them began to come forward—especially the pain. The pain from the realization that this was the last time he would ever hold her. The pain that this moment might be possibly the last time he would ever see her. All these thoughts caused the overwhelming ache to weigh heavily in his chest and trigger the tears he had held onto so fiercely earlier to now form and roll down his cheeks. It was all too much!

From the moment he'd awakened this morning, a deep-rooted uneasiness had filled him. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake the feeling. When early evening rolled around, and he'd heard the weatherman reporting a bitter cold snap was coming, Will convinced himself that was the cause, and he snickered as he compared himself and his edgy feelings with a flock of squawking, restless birds before an approaching storm. Well, that was until he saw Iher/I standing in the snow. Now, he knew better than to dismiss his feelings as something as silly as bad weather.

At first, Will believed seeing Buffy was possibly due to a freaky hallucination—his eyes playing tricks on him making the shadows appear to be something they weren't. After a few moments of "Buffy" not disappearing, Will feared it could be worse than a figment of his imagination. His concern then became that after a year of almost solitary living, his lack of human contact had caught up with him and rotted his melon. He had finally gone around the proverbial bend. He was mad as a hatter, completely certifiable. That is what the nut house doc would say when Will told him he saw his wife, who would never be here to see him, especially not driving three hours from LA in a snow storm and now standing in front of and actually talking to him. Yup, he'd earned a one way ticket to crazy-ville, population one.

Will remained standing in the middle of the room until Buffy's engine roared to life and broke through the ramblings consuming his mind. He pushed the ideas of shadows and craziness away and moved toward the window to witness the third most painful event in his life, Buffy driving away for the final time.

It didn't make any sense that his mind was trying to sequence the tragedies in his life. However, the mind always tried to find ways to aid in self-preservation. Rationalizing emotions was one of the ways the mind helped in coping with difficult and painful things.

Today was the day for both number two and three to form on this list. There was no "list" until two years ago when—Will broke once more from his thoughts when he witnessed Buffy climbing out of her car, walking toward the front end, and after standing there for a moment, kicking the tire.

Despite how grim his mindset had been only moments before, Will chuckled at the sight of his little spitfire. Without another thought besides needing to know why she hadn't left by now, even more so why she was clearly upset, Will headed toward the stairs. Once upstairs, he headed over to a bedroom window facing the front of the house in order to see what was going on more clearly.

It only took a few moments for him to understand why there was a delay and what caused her anger. Even though Will wanted to head outside and help her with her predicament, he remained where he was—completely conflicted. Clearly, she could use the help, but he felt going out there to do so would be, at the very least, awkward.

First off, wasn't there a protocol between ex's like hating one another or, at the very least, feeling ill will toward them? Also, wasn't he supposed to be relishing the fact that this was happening to her? Wasn't he supposed to be pointing and laughing at his ex while she crouched in the snow, endeavoring to dig out her car with her hands? Wasn't that typical ex-husband behavior?

Yet despite feeling emotionally torn limb from limb from what had just happened earlier, he couldn't find or even dredge up any type of animosity toward her. Also, going one-step further, he believed that the process of signing the papers seemed to be difficult for her as well. Maybe he was delusional hoping she still cared for him, but hope was all he felt he had left.

Secondly, to be completely honest, he was glad she was stuck. Not in a "Haha, you're stuck!" kinda way, but in a "She has to stay, at least for a little longer" way. Maybe for the first time in years The Powers that Be decided to throw him a bone.

Will glanced at the soft green glow from the alarm clock. It was ten past eleven. He'd hoped Buffy would give up soon. There was so much snow surrounding the tires, and he knew how much Buffy hated the cold. He hoped the two things combined would work in his favor. But again this was Buffy, and she was very persistent, as well as stubborn. Even though these qualities were annoying at times, to say the least, they were the very qualities needed to push over the bumps littering the road of life.

He watched for several more minutes as she moved to the back tire and began digging. When he witnessed her whole body shake almost violently from the cold, his choice was an easy one to make. Heading downstairs, he dressed quickly in his outerwear before heading out the front door.

Buffy's pace slowed to a mere crawl as complete exhaustion took over. The snow was heavy and wet. This type of snow was perfect for making snowballs and snowmen but not so much for trying to move it with your hands. Even if she had a shovel, this process would've been taxing. The harsh wind continued to whistle in her ears and bite at her exposed cheeks.

Buffy stopped digging when she felt fresh tears stinging her eyes. The tears formed from both frustration and the bitter wind were balancing on her lower lids and threatening to fall. Quickly, she blinked them away, knowing the weepy side of her frustration would get her nowhere fast. Well, that and the possibility of the cold freezing her eyes shut if they had flowed. Taking a steady, cleansing breath, she pushed the weepiness away and tapped into the angry side of her frustration. This side helped fuel her movements as she began digging once more.

Just before she'd partially uncovered the second tire, Buffy heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Lu—um, Buffy? Can I ask, what are you doin'?"

Buffy, with her agitation still at an all-time high, responded to him without courteously acknowledging his approach by neither stopping her digging nor turning to face him.

"I'm building a snow fort using my car as home base. What the fuck to do think I'm doing? I'm digging out my car so I can get the hell out of here!"

Will was taken aback by her words and stood speechless for several moments before responding. Her clear hostility was a complete change from the softness of her earlier demeanor. Acting purely from the fight part of the "fight or flight response," Will instantly threw back a response, his tone matching her snark.

"Well, if you weren't so daft as to drive this hunk of junk up the mountain in a snow storm no less, then you wouldn't be stuck in the snow? Now would you, princess?"

His response stopped her digging instantly. Standing slowly, she brushed her hands together before turning toward him. Will knew she was pissed as he watched her cross her arms across her chest in indignation.

"This 'hunk of junk' as you so rudely called it, is the best car we ever owned! Even after almost 200,000 miles it still runs perfectly! Plus, I don't need a hoity-toity car to prove to other people I've made something of my life!"

Buffy knew that comment was a low blow, but she was just so mad! How dare he poke fun at the first thing they ever owned together? It felt like a shot at their whole relationship. She knew it wasn't true, but it felt that way all the same. Once she heard Will's response, she knew he had taken it as it was intended: a hit below the belt.

"I don't need Ianything/I to show Ianyone/I that I've made somethin' of myself! I don't give rot 'bout what people think! The only reason why I bought the bloody Beamer was so you wouldn't be riding around in some ten year old piece of shite when—"

Will's words froze in his throat when he realized he'd nearly spoken about the most devastating moment in both their lives. The air between them felt thick, almost palpable from the silence and tension, as their gaze remained locked. Filled with guilt and unable to look into her eyes any longer, he lowered his head.

All of Buffy's anger drained away when she witnessed the guilt flashing across Will's features when he had almost brought up their painful past. She wanted him to speak of this time and for him to not feel it was wrong in doing so. This was the main reason why their relationship had fallen apart: his refusing to speak about this difficult time, and how he had become a whipping boy of his own guilt. Seeing him like this always tore her up inside.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Buffy took several steps forward. His head remained bowed until he saw her feet in his line of vision. Raising his head, Will met Buffy's gaze. They stared at one another for a few moments before Buffy spoke,

"Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you. All you were doing was asking me a reasonable question, and in true Buffy form, I jumped down your throat for it. I'm not pissed at you. It's just - I'm stuck, and I can't get out, and I'm freezing, and I'm pretty sure that I've lost some fingers and toes and possibly my nose during this process and…did I say I'm pissed 'cause I can't get out?"

A soft smile filled Will's lips briefly from her ramblings. Buffy's incessant talking usually came when she was feeling uneasy about something, and when she tried to put it in words, babbling was the end result. Like always, he found it absolutely adorable. This was one of the attributes he loved in her. Who was he kiddin'? He loved everything about her.

Noticing how he was looking at her, Buffy's stopped, eyeing him before mirroring a smile of her own.

"Just call me the Ramblin' Man, well, woman. In case I didn't make it clear during my case of verbal diarrhea, I'm sorry, and I'm not mad at you."

"Yeah, I reckoned that. After all these years, I've gotten pretty good at deciphering Buffy-ese. Anyhow, I wouldn't blame you if you were angry, since I asked a question to which the answer was ridiculously obvious."

While Buffy looked at him, Will used all his control to maintain an even expression on his face. He was finding it hard to contain the elation welling inside. He knew he was being a complete git getting all excited that they were having a simple conversation, but he couldn't help it, since this was the first truly civil one they'd had in almost a year.

Plus, he was finding it harder and harder as each moment passed not to let his excitability show. Buffy had apologized to him again. One apology from Buffy was rarity, never mind two. If before this moment he were told he would be getting two apologies from her in one day, he would've dismissed it as a myth such as vampires or ghosts. Then when she responded to him in true Buffy form, it triggered the smile waiting to be released.

"Great, we both agree. You're to blame." Following dual chuckles, she continued speaking as she motioned toward the tires.

"Now, how do I get outta this mess?"

Will walked toward the car with Buffy in tow. He eyed the tires briefly before he shook his head.

"Buffy, I know you don't wanna hear this, but you're not getting outta here tonight. You're in pretty deep. Plus, you have front wheel drive, so the only way to get outta here is digging your way out. Since it's really late, I suggest we deal with this in the mornin'."

She wanted to protest, tell him there was no way she could spend the night here with him. Never mind returning to the place where their marriage had ended and act like everything was hunky-dory, especially with the thoughts she had earlier about kissing and nakedness in front of the fire that had come forth. Then with him looking at her with his eyes shining with hope and complete devotion she didn't stand a chance. She always melted when he looked at her Ithat/I way. Her heart formed a response before her mind had any say.

"Okay, I mean thanks, for letting me stay."

Will wanted to ask her why she was thanking him when it was far from an inconvenience. On the contrary, it was a gift. He wanted to tell her if he had a choice, she would stay with him forever. Despite these and a million other retorts forming in his head, he settled for a minimal response of "'S'alright."

Without another word, the pair headed toward the house, each of them unaware that the other was also mentally preparing for the time that lay ahead – time alone together


	5. Chapter 5: Awkwardness

_"Mere bashfulness without merit is awkwardness"_

Joseph Addison

Once the pair headed inside and closed the door behind them, they silently began removing their outerwear. The only sounds heard through the room were the lowering of zippers, Buffy's sodden gloves _plopping_ on the floor, and her relieved sighs as the warmth of the house starting to thaw out her numb body parts. After each offending piece of cold, wet clothing was gone, they stood near one another, neither sure what to do next. After several moments of awkward silence, Will turned toward her and tried starting a conversation.

"So—"

"So—"

Echoing her response, Will struggled trying to think of something more to say, but nothing would come. The uneasiness he felt between them earlier was now gone. Strangely, what had replaced it, there seemed to be only one word that came to his mind to best describe it—nervousness. Will remembered feeling the same way the first time he asked a girl out on a date or shopped for condoms. Thankfully, these first-time unnerving situations happened years apart.

Knowing that if he didn't say something quickly, he was going to go crazy from the silence, he took a deep breath and pushed forward.

"Um—yeah, so, do you want somethin' to drink? Some hot tea or maybe even somethin' a little harder? I have that frilly drink mix you like. I could whip you one up. Sorry, but I'm out of the littl' umbrellas you like. Hey, we even could go all out. I could throw another log on, and we can pretend that we're someplace tropical."

_Smooth, real smooth. Soddin' git!_ Will hoped the expression on his face didn't look as pathetic as he knew he sounded.

While he spoke, Buffy watched his gaze hold a hopefulness she knew she should squelch, especially since she knew the longer she stayed around him the harder leaving tomorrow was going to be—for both of them. Despite all of that, Buffy couldn't help but smile from his attempt to make her comfortable.

With a soft, "Sure, sounds good," she headed over toward the welcoming hearth and sat before the fire. Several moments later, while she enjoyed finally being able to feel her fingers and toes as they wiggled before the flames, she heard the whir of the blender and the distinct sound of the blades chopping ice.

After the blender stopped, a few minutes passed before a large frozen drink was placed in her hands. She thought she would've hated holding something frozen, especially since it was not too long ago that her extremities had felt frozen straight through. Yet, basking by the fire had seemed to finally bring back the feeling to them, and actually at that point, she was now considering moving away from the flames since she was getting slightly too warm sitting so close.

Taking a tentative sip, she hummed in enjoyment as the sugary alcohol tickled her taste buds. As it slid down her throat, the melting icy strawberry concoction caused her to shiver.

"Too cold? I knew I should've went with a hot scotch or somethin', 'specially since you've been out there shovelin'—"

Buffy turned slightly from the flames to look at Will who was sitting on the couch holding a small tumbler glass filled partway with whiskey.

"No, it's good. Really good, Will. Even if we were sitting on the sun, I would still shiver after drinking my favorite frozen goodness, I can't help it."

After she spoke, she smiled briefly before turning her gaze back to the flames. Once more, silence surrounded them with only the random crackling from the fire breaking through the quiet.

Buffy's lids felt heavy and began fluttering, as she tried to bat away the sleep that called to her. Even though she was exhausted from the long drive, the emotional upheaval, and the digging, she didn't want to go to sleep.

It was strange, but this was the most at ease she has felt in almost two years. Not wanting to start down that long road again, questioning whether having him sign the papers had been the right thing to do, Buffy decided to take the safer route. She chose to believe this peacefulness came from finally getting some closure with the past. That was a much safer road to head down.

Feeling her lids droop once more, Buffy placed her glass on the coffee table, afraid if she didn't, she would have a lap full of the frozen drink. As she put the drink down, a jaw-cracking yawn forced her mouth wide open. Deciding she couldn't fight sleep any longer, Buffy slowly stood from the floor. She stretched her limbs briefly, before looking at Will, who seemed to be absorbed in watching her every move.

"Um, I'm really tired. Do you mind—"Buffy's gaze moved from his, when the intensity of his stare became too much. She began toying with the hem of her sweater, trying to focus on something other than his eyes. Hearing her words, Will pushed past the lustful thoughts running through his mind after watching her stretch before the fire like a lithe cat.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I should've been—um, well, I'm knackered too. Long day."

Without another word, Will stood and headed toward the stairs with Buffy in tow. Once they reached the top, the awkwardness returned with a vengeance. During their ascent, his mind thought of different things to say to her—everything from funny to flirty, but they all sounded equally ridiculous. Again, he wanted to push past this renewed uneasiness. Opening his mouth, he decided to let the words come as they may.

"Um, so, where do you want to sleep?" _God, could I sound anymore like a pathetic wanker? Why don't I just get on my hands and knees and beg her to come to bed with me?_

"Well, I'm the guest, so the most reasonable place for me to be is in the room designed for guests. So, that would be the guest room. Yeah, I'll take the guest room." _Babble much, Buffy? Damn him and his bedroom eyes!_

Will nodded, as he restrained the look of disappointment that wanted to pass over his features.

"Yeah, so, after you." Will motioned down the hallway. Following this gesture, Buffy turned and headed toward the room. When they reached the door, she stepped aside, so he could open it. He turned the knob, and the door swung open before he leaned over and flicked on the light switch. The soft glow from the table lamp filled the room. Will walked in first, and Buffy followed. She was amazed that this room, as all the others she'd seen, had remained the same.

"Um, let me get new sheets for the bed. They haven't been changed since—"

"They're the same sheets I put on over two years ago?" Buffy's nose scrunched in disgust at the thought that the sheets on the bed were that old.

"Yeah, no one's slept in here, so why would I change them?"

"It's a bed. Hence, the sheets need to be changed often, even if nobody has slept on them."

"Why? My thought is if somethin' smells and looks clean, then it is."

"Eww…Will, that's really gross!"

Shrugging his shoulders, he pulled off all the offending linens and, after rolling them into a ball, headed out of the room after saying, "Be right back." While she watched him walking away, Buffy thought about his admission—"Nobody has slept in here."

This made the green-eyed monster of jealousy within her do the Snoopy dance. Even though they'd been separated for a while and knowing how sexually insatiable he was, he still hadn't brought anyone here to quench that desire. _He could've gone to their place, or even worse, they could've slept in his bedroom._ her inner doubt whispered, which instantly caused her inner bitch to snap back, _Shut up!_

As Buffy was having this inner war of words, she missed Will coming back into the room with fresh linens in hand. After her bitch-side had put her doubting-side back in its place, she looked over to witness him making the bed. Her eyes instantly locked on one of her favorite parts of him, his posterior. She always loved watching these two perfect globes moving under his form-fitting denims. During their relationship, there were times where she would play weakling or claim she couldn't reach something on the top shelf, just so she could get a secret, appreciative eyeful of that tasty morsel when he bent over or reached up high in front of her.

When he finished, she suppressed her inner slut and moved her gaze to the wall, before he turned and witnessed her obvious ogling.

"So, all set. I guarantee these sheets are clean, washed them earlier this week. Um, if you're interested, there's a new toothbrush and some dry, clean clothes in the loo."

Will hoped offering his clothes wasn't out of line. He was just thinking that she'd been in those clothes since that morning and was probably itching to get out of them. _Right—she's itchin' to get out of them. It has nothin' to do with you itchin' for her to get out of them._

Pushing past his self-directed sarcasm and the renewed lusty thoughts of Buffy in his tee shirt or, better yet, in nothing at all, he focused on getting out of the room before he lost all sense of control by doing what he so desperately wanted to do—grabbing Buffy, throwing her on the bed, and having his wicked way with her.

"Thanks, Will. I appreciate everything you've done." Buffy smiled as she toyed with her hands. She felt as though she should thank him more than just with words, like giving him hug or something. However, she knew hugging could lead to something else, especially standing next to a bed—one with or without clean sheets.

Will, sensed the awkwardness returning; that and the fact that his erection pressed almost painfully against the zipper of his jeans, meant it was time to leave.

"Ok, I'm goin' to head off, to um, bed. Help yourself to anything. _Like me…_ If you need somethin', _Like me…_ I'll be just down the hall. _Wankin' off like a soddin' teenager._ Okay, um, goodnight."

Will backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. He stared at the closed door for several moments, willing her to open it. After several beats, he decided his hoping she'd join him in their room to make mad, passionate love was just a foolish wish.

Slowly, Buffy released the breath she'd been holding. It was so difficult. Hell, it was almost damn near impossible to remain standing there doing nothing to stop him from leaving. Buffy hoped now with his intoxicating closeness gone, she could think more rationally.

_Tomorrow it will be easier. Tonight has just been really difficult, and Will was always the one I turned to when things got rough. I'm just looking for a supportive shoulder to lean on. As for the ogling of Will, well that's easily explained. It's been awhile, a long while. That's all that was, nothing more._

Buffy considered going to the bathroom to retrieve the proffered items, but she felt leaving the security of this room was not a good idea, especially with her current conflicted feelings she had about Will.

Sitting on the bed, she pulled off her damp socks, then stood and slid off her jeans. Standing briefly, she walked over to the head of the bed. Pulling back the covers, she climbed in and drew them over her body. After looking around the room briefly, she leaned over and shut off the lamp with a tug of its metal chain. She shifted slightly, in order to get comfortable. Once situated, she released a soft sigh as the weariness from the long day started to seep from her.

It didn't take long before sleep began pulling her under. However, before the Sandman could sprinkle the final grains of sand in her eyes, a niggling feeling kept her from allowing him to do so. She tried to push past the tugging from her bladder, but it was no use. With a huff, she rolled over and turned on the light. Throwing off the covers, she shivered slightly from the cooler air touching her exposed legs. Standing from the bed, she yanked the discarded jeans from the floor and pulled them on.

Despite her irritation and the urgent pulling from her lower abdomen, she opened the door slowly. Grateful for the light illuminating from downstairs to softly light the way, Buffy peered into the hallway. After noticing his door was closed, she listened intently for several moments. Not hearing any noise coming from that direction, she knew it was safe to leave her room. With a soft sigh of relief, she headed toward the bathroom.

Once she reached the bathroom door, she eyed his bedroom door once more and waited to see if he would come out. After several moments of waiting and hearing no movement within, she pushed the bathroom door slightly ajar. Buffy took two steps into the room and froze instantly in place. There, standing before the toilet with his back to her, was Will. By his stance, there was no question what he was doing.

Buffy's gaze darted quickly from his flannel bottoms resting under the place she was ogling earlier, to his now exposed perfectly naked, bitable cheeks.

Will was beyond frustrated. He had been standing in the loo for ten minutes and still nothing—not even a trickle. Once he left the guest room, he quickly headed to his room. With thoughts of Buffy filling his mind, he yanked down his jeans and grabbed hold of his willy, even before he moved from his closed bedroom door. Following several harsh tugs, he gushed all over his hand like a pimply-faced teenager. Once Will got his bearings back following his release, with his pants still around his ankles, he wobbled over to his bed. After he cleaned his hand with a tissue, the urge to seek a different kind of release made itself known.

Quickly, he shucked off the remainder of his clothes. Changing into his favorite flannel bottoms, he headed off to the bathroom. This is where he has been ever since. Currently, his willy was only at half mast, but for some reason, even though his bladder felt like it was about to burst, he couldn't go. _Fuck it!_ With irritation he tucked himself back into his pants and pulled them up over his hips.

When he turned, his gaze met with the one thing he wasn't expecting - Buffy. She stood on the threshold of the room. Her eyes still fixed where he'd been standing, or more specifically where his ass would've been in relation to where he was standing. Now, she was gawking at his front, as his willy went from half-mast to fully erect in a matter of moments. Not knowing what else to do, he spoke,

"Buffy?"

Hearing her name broke through the staring contest she was having with his cock. Her eyes snapped up to meet his and immediately grew as large as dinner plates. Following a string of muttered, "I'm sorry-s" and "Oh, God-s" she backed out of the room, turned, and bolted down the hallway. The slamming of the guest room door announced where she had gone.

Will walked out of the bathroom and looked down the hallway. Witnessing her reaction, he wanted to apologize for leaving the light off and the door being partly opened, giving the illusion that the bathroom was empty. When he reached half-way down the hallway toward her room, he stopped since he had no clue what he was going to say to her once he got there. He felt "Sorry you got an eyeful of my arse and dangly bits" really wouldn't be any way to start an apology.

Plus, the more he thought about it, he felt he had nothing to apologize for, and he sure as hell wasn't sorry he caught her looking. Sad to say, it was the most excitement his willy had felt in a really long time.

Yeah, he'd wanked. Hell, it was a daily occurrence, but it hadn't felt as good as it did earlier. This time he had fresh memories of Buffy, not old ones, spurring his hand. Before tonight, the pictures he pulled from his spank bank were like trying to look past the squiggly lines of a blocked porn channel— the picture's all fuzzy, and you can only see bits and pieces of the action. This time, it was like he was watching porn on a high-def, flat screen TV—a clear, crisp picture made the experience so much better.

Even better than that was the way she had been staring at him. He knew _that_ look. She was completely lusting after him. It wasn't much to hold onto, but it would do—for now. With a devilish smile and a spring in his step, Will turned and headed back to his room.

Buffy sat on her bed trying to catch her breath and figure out what just happened. She tried to rationalize the overwhelming lust she felt and the dampness spreading between her thighs. _Buffy, let's be honest, it's been a really long time, and let's face it, he has a really great ass. All you were doing was appreciating a fine form, nothing more._

Running this thought through her mind several times, she began to believe it. That was it. She'd been celibate for far too long, and her inner slut wasn't too happy about it. Her gawking at his butt had nothing to do with him. She absolutely had no lusty feelings for her ex. Even more so, if she did, which she so didn't, she wasn't going to do _anything_ about it. Buffy decided the best way to emphasize this point to both herself and Will was by staying in her room for the rest of the night. Bladder be damned.


	6. Chapter 6: Thoughts of the Past

_"Memory is the treasure house of the mind wherein the __monuments__ thereof are kept and preserved"_

Thomas Fuller

Buffy watched the hands of the clock on the nightstand slowly tick by. Over an hour had passed since her initial trip to the bathroom. She tried to go back to sleep, yet her bladder made it impossible. She lost the battle with this baser urge, threw off the covers, and headed for the bathroom. Buffy opened the door and tentatively headed down the hallway.

Once she reached the bathroom, she called his name softly into the darkness before pushing the door open. Not hearing a response, she swallowed past the lump in her throat and entered the room. Gratefully, it was empty. Buffy turned on the light and locked the door behind her before hurrying to the toilet. After she found the relief she'd so desperately craved for well over an hour, she then stood before the mirror.

She didn't recognize the exhausted woman reflected in the glass. It felt like forever since she'd slept and even longer since she felt any type of peace. Tonight by the fire she'd felt at ease, but not fully serene. That feeling had eluded her for too long. She'd hoped the decision to move on would've started her down the path toward serenity, but she still was uncertain if she'd made the right choice. Since she'd arrived here, her decision that had remained unwavering for six months was now teetering between being the right or wrong choice.

Pushing past her doubt, Buffy began getting ready for bed. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she looked at the clothes he'd left for her. A small smile grew when she spied a worn black cotton tee and a pair of warm socks. Buffy wasn't upset that he didn't bother leaving her some pants, since he knew she hated wearing them to bed. Grabbing the proffered items, she headed back to her room.

Once back in her room, Buffy pulled off her black sweater and bra and slipped the tee over her head. She was instantly inundated with Will's unique scent. She walked to the bed, but before she slid under the sheets, she pulled up the collar of his shirt and buried her nose in the fabric.

Buffy breathed deeply through her nose and closed her eyes, briefly feeling a wave of familiarity roll through her. She could never explain why, but Will's scent always had a way of exciting and comforting her at the same time.

With her nose still tucked in his shirt, she turned off the light before sliding deeper into the linens. As she nestled in, Buffy's lids began fluttering as she began to surrender to the sleep she'd previously fought against. As she drifted off, the combination of the day's events and Will's scent caused memories of the past began to come forward.

_Seven Years ago_

"Great, will this night ever end?"

The small brass bell hanging above the diner's door triggered a groan from Buffy and an eye roll to her equally weary counterpart, who was sitting on an adjacent stool. Each woman rubbed matching aching spots radiating from their lower backs. It was four a.m., and the women yearned for the lagging minutes on the clock to pass quickly to five a.m., the time their shift finally ended.

The past fifteen minutes was the first lull in the steady stream of customers in the diner since they'd started their shift at nine p.m. Despite the fact that every Saturday night was just as busy as this one, it didn't make it any easier on their bodies. Neither woman wanted to move from her seat, especially not to help more most likely obnoxious, drunken partiers, who had a hankering for runny eggs and stale coffee. Each lady eyed the other, waging a silent war to force the other to stand and help the new customers. After several moments, Buffy relented, having worked there less time. With a loud huff, she stood and turned to face the incoming patrons.

She saw two men of equal height out of the corner of her eye, while fishing through her pocket of her apron. Both men wore black leather coats and slid into the furthest booth. Getting ready to take yet another order, Buffy pulled out her pad of paper and a stubby pencil. She arrived to their table and stood off to the side, donning her customary plastic grin. She greeted them with a "Good morning. I'm Anne." After her brief introduction, she'd followed it up with a stereotypical greasy-spoon-diner-style question, "Whatya havin'?"

She'd been using the alias of Anne in order to not have to deal with guys trying to engage her in tedious conversations about her given name, Buffy. When she first started to waitress, the male customers would go on and on about her name. Everything from, "That's a fake name. Now tell me what's your real name?" to "I had a dog named that once." After a week of listening to their comments, she decided to use her middle name instead. Gratefully, since she really needed the job, from that point on, she hadn't heard another comment about her name.

The man to her left spoke first. Buffy was taken off guard when his thick accent filled her ears. Even as she scribbled his order, she found her mind wandering, trying to determine where he was from. It was a toss up between England and Ireland. The issue was Buffy had a _thing_ for accents. She loved them all, but above all others one was her particular favorite—British.

Her love for accents all started at the tender age of twelve with her neighbor's son, David. David, who was from a town just outside London, was in LA to visit his father during summer break. Buffy remembered being introduced to him, and it was the first time in her short life she was utterly speechless. At first it was his looks. He was handsome with bronzed skin, a full head of thick black hair, and large brown eyes. Then he spoke. From the moment she heard his accent, she was completely hooked.

During his visit, her days were filled with constant giggling and whispering between her and her best friend, Willow, as they fawned over him. Despite all the time she spent around him, they were never alone. They were always in a group of kids from the neighborhood that hung out together.

Buffy only spoke with him directly a handful of times, and when she responded to his questions, her answers were only two to three word sentences that were usually stuttered as her eyes darted, looking everywhere else, but never directly at him. Now looking back, she realized this was her first crush. After two weeks, he left and never visited his dad or LA again. However, even to this very day, every time she heard a British accent, she reverted back to her twelve-year-old self.

A loud sound of a throat being cleared broke Buffy from her thousand-yard stare. Realizing she was blatantly gawking at this man, she blinked quickly in order to clear her mind. With embarrassment tinting her cheeks a bright pink, she tried to make light of the situation with a joke.

"Um, so, would you like a spot of tea, guv'nor?"

Following this failed attempt at humor since neither of them laughed, she turned to face the man to her right. The instant she did, she was completely lost. This man was a stark contradiction to his friend. He sported a crown of shocking white hair that was harshly slicked back, compared to the other man's tussled dark locks. The man to her right was adorned in all black. Each piece of clothing seemed to be carefully picked out to add to his dangerous persona. His friend, on the other hand, looked like he had a field day rummaging through the racks of a local thrift store for his outfit of cheaply made polyester, complete with loud patterns and colors. Mystery man in black held an air of menace and danger, whereas his friend seemed to be the sidekick, the one who provided the jokes and laughs. The only similarity they had was the pair of blue eyes each possessed. Even then, the man on the left eyes sparkled with humor, whereas the other man's, despite his hardened exterior, appeared soulful, and she felt strangely at ease with him. These pools of blue had her mesmerized, ensnared in his stare.

When Mr. Mystery Man-in-black's rumbling, velvety voice filled her ears, Buffy's eyes broke from his gaze and moved to his full, kissable lips. While she gawked, she noticed his lips moving, but she missed his order completely. After a few quick blinks that dragged her mind from la-la land, she remembered where she was and more importantly what she was supposed to be doing.

"You have to excuse me, long night. Can you give me your order again?"

With a raise of his scarred brow, he eyed her before he repeated himself. This time when he spoke she didn't miss what he was saying, especially not the tone. It was if he was talking to a simpleton.

"Coffee. Black. Strong. Got it?"

When Buffy heard the edge to his voice, even with the accent, the spell she was under evaporated instantly. Without another word, she turned on her heels and headed back to the counter, grumbling under her breath the entire way about a "Rude Billy Idol wanna-be" and "Punk rock reject."

She quickly rounded the counter and stuck the ticket on the order wheel. The cook grunted as he placed his sausage-sized fingers on the metal and spun the wheel around so he could reach the slip. With another grunt, he snatched it from the clip before heading over to the grill.

Once the order was placed, with a mischievous glint in her eyes she turned toward the line of coffee makers. Eyeing the pots, she smirked when spying what she was looking for—the pot holding the oldest coffee. Removing it from the heater, she noticed the black liquid sluggishly swishing against the heated glass. Buffy could smell the pungent bitterness of the coffee before she even began pouring. Perfect. Grabbing a chipped, white cup and saucer from under the counter, she tipped the pot and watched the coffee travel down the side of the glass, to the spout, and then filling the cup.

Grinning with pure satisfaction from her choice and her not so hidden way to get back at him for his rudeness, Buffy headed over to table. Once she arrived, she flashed another synthetic smile before placing the cup of vile caffeinated nastiness in front of the disrespectful blond before giving him a perky, "Enjoy!"

His nod was his only response before Buffy headed back over to the counter in order to secretly watch the show that was about to unfold. Trying to appear casual, she grabbed a rag and began wiping down the counters while humming a song softly under her breath. At random times, her eyes darted over to the table, as all the while she bit her lower lip, trying to stifle the laughter bubbling within as she anticipated his reaction to her impish deed.

Several moments passed and nothing. She began to wonder if he had just ordered the coffee so he could be rude because of her staring, or maybe he was a masochist, and he enjoyed the assault on his taste buds. The swill left at the bottom of the pot was certainly good for that. Hearing the cook grumbling, "Order's up," brought her attention from payback to serving. Slightly disappointed, she grabbed the plate and headed over to the table.

Before reaching her destination, Buffy clearly heard what the blond jerk thought about the coffee. Stifling her laughter, she approached with plate in hand, as his loud sputtering and something resembling cursing began to subside. Fixing another beaming smile to her lips and still trying to cover up her laughter, she placed the plate before his friend. After asking, "Is there anything else?" to Mr. Polyester, she turned to Mr. I'm-stuck-in-the-80's and with her sweetest and most sarcastic voice asked how he liked the coffee.

She waited for him to verbally blast her, maybe even throw the coffee in her face and ask her how she liked it. He did neither. She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed with a forced swallow before he told her, "It's fine." This took her aback, and her brow furrowed faintly in confusion. Buffy knew the coffee was far from fine, but he told her it was. Normally, customers didn't have a problem telling her what they thought of the food, the service, and especially her. This guy looked no different. Hell, he looked like he never had a problem telling people what he thought, whether a comment was due or not.

Knowing he was staring at her, she coughed in an attempt to cover up her staring yet again. With a soft smile, Buffy placed the bill upside down on the table, turned, and headed back to the counter to help the other woman with prep work for the morning rush.

Twenty minutes later, the men appeared to have finished their meal as they stood from the booth. Each of them placed money on the table and headed out without saying another word. Buffy looked up from her task of filling the saltshakers when she heard the bell above the door ringing. She briefly met with blonde's gaze, which was filled with something she had never seen before that day, and then he turned and headed out into the early rays of the morning light.

_The Present_

As Buffy drifted between state of consciousness and sleep, the last thoughts of him flickered through her mind. She hadn't thought about that day in ages, yet she remembered everything with perfect clarity: The large grease stain on the sleeve of her uniform from a burger sliding from its bun earlier that night when she pulled the plate from the heating lamps to place it on her tray. The miles of grimy linoleum that lay under her equally grimy black sneakers. The way his eyes seemed to, even then, speak to her completely. She remembered it all, and his eyes and way he looked at her that day was the last memory she recalled before sleep finally took over.

Author's Notes:

Hope you liked this little flashback. This chapter had a very personal touch to it. The story about David is true. In this case, I was Buffy. I believe David was the one who made my love for accents, especially British ones, become what it is today! I absolutely love them! LOL!

Big thanks to Sanityfair and Diebirchen for beta-ing


	7. Chapter 7: Our Past Shaping Our Future

_"The past is our definition. We may strive, with good reason, to escape it or to escape what is bad in it, but we will escape it only by adding something better to it."_

Wendell Berry

Will had been pacing incessantly for the past hour, almost to the point of wearing a path through his room, especially near his bedroom door. In the brief moments he remained still, he attempted to leave a dozen times. However, it was the thirteenth time he'd talked himself out of doing so at the very last minute, and that left him utterly frustrated.

He stopped once more as his hand hovered above the knob. Yet, all too soon another reason not to leave sprang forward, causing him to move his hand away from the door and plunge it into his hair. He raked his fingers through it several times and released some of the curls from their gelled prison. In sheer irritation, a sound resembling a growl rumbled from his throat, and he turned from the door and resumed pacing.

"Bloody 'ell! 'M actin' like a soddin' git! She's my wife. Well, was my wife, and I've been in a bedroom with her before. Hundreds of times! Most of the time neither of us had a stitch on and…" Will stopped momentarily as flashes of Buffy, sans clothing, assaulted his brain. After enjoying these images for a moment, he pushed them away and began moving again. "Where was I? Oh yeah, this shouldn't be so bleedin' difficult! All I need to do is just open the bloody door, walk through it, go down the hallway, open her door, and, and… then what?"

Will stopped his pacing once more and realized, gratefully, that his frantic movements had brought him to his bedside. Wearily, he sank onto the mattress while roughly scrubbing his hands over his face. After several passes, he uncovered his face and dropped his hands heavily onto his lap.

"And that's the rub. It doesn't even matter 'then what.' I can't even get that far. Can't even get past my bloody door, never mind head down to her room. Why is it that Buffy always bring out the William in me?"

With this question still weighing on his mind, he noticed a dim beam of light spilling from under his door. _Buffy_ Almost as if the light was calling to him, he unwittingly stood and approached it. He placed his palms against the barrier and pressed his ear to the wood. Straining, he tried to hear what she was doing, but he was only met with silence.

While he waited in the darkness for several moments, still not hearing a sound, he became slightly bored, which caused his mind to wander. Despite how all his thoughts had been Buffy-centric from the moment he saw her earlier tonight, his mind seemed to move down a path not often traveled. Strangely, what came forth were memories of his childhood, to a time when he was known only as William.

_The Past_

William sat on the floor in the den of his family's home with his legs sprawled wide enough to accommodate a large piece of drawing paper and dozens of brightly colored crayons. He scribbled feverishly, even though there was an already ever-growing stack of completed drawings haphazardly piled on the floor beside him.

Occasionally, he would briefly stop coloring another one of his masterpieces to hastily swipe away a stray lock of his curly hair, which kept falling into his eyes. He knew his parents would be home soon, and since his da had suddenly taken ill earlier today, he hoped the more pictures he was able to make for him, the better he would feel.

When he heard the front door opening, he immediately stopped coloring and ran to greet his parents with his newest picture in hand. Once he passed the archway separating the den from the foyer, what he saw caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

It was his mum, sobbing, with tears running down her cheeks unchecked. She barely made it to the stairs before collapsing. Gratefully, the third to the bottom stair caught her graceless descent. She clenched a large, dark-colored object in her hands, and once she was seated, she buried her face into it and continued to sob.

William stood watching his mum for several moments, unsure what to do. All he knew was his mum was clearly upset, and his da wasn't there to make her feel better. Reacting to her sadness with his own newly formed tears, he walked hesitantly until he reached her. The picture he was once so proud of, now lay on the floor forgotten.

He tentatively placed his hand on her knee. Startled, she raised her head from the object, which he then realized was his da's jacket. She stared at him with watery, bloodshot eyes. A few beats passed before she appeared to recognize him, as she seemed to pull herself from the pain for a moment.

His mum whispered his name softly before opening her arms wide. He instantly rushed into them, feeling her love surrounding him as she enveloped him in a warm, tight embrace. She then gently pulled him onto her lap and tenderly touched his cheek to guide him to rest his head upon her chest.

She immediately began an innate motherly sway, rocking slowly while she softly hummed. The comforting combination of the melody and her heartbeat instantly caused a sense of peace to wash over him, even though he knew deep down, there was no peace to be found.

William didn't know nor did he question why his mum was so upset. Despite his young age, he instinctually knew she needed to give him comfort so, in turn, she would feel comforted herself. For what seemed an endless amount of time, they stayed in this position. All he remembered was time seemed to be measured by the daylight disappearing and the increasing darkness taking its place.

Then, without a word, she gradually stood. While he remained cradled to her chest with his arms still looped around her neck and his legs hooked around her waist, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Once reaching her destination, she removed their shoes before sliding them under the covers. For the rest of the night, he stayed in the safety of her arms. Eventually, her murmured soothing whispers had lulled him to sleep.

Unfortunately, this first childhood memory was formed at the tender age of five—the memory of his father's untimely passing.

After this memory faded, more flashes of his childhood came and went: his first day of school, learning to ride a bike, and his being fitted for glasses.

William was a shy child and stayed mainly to himself. He had only one good friend during these years, but when he was ten, his friend moved away leaving William virtually alone. It was at this time he had decided instead of seeking out new friends, since most of the other children were cruel to him, that he preferred the company of friends who existed in the pages of books and, more importantly, his mum.

As his memories continued, he purposefully skipped over the years during his solitary, gawky early teens. Then abruptly, like a stick jammed between the spokes of a spinning wheel, his memories stopped. In his mind's eye, he was faced with the one he dreaded above all others. It was this single day, a balmy October morning, when his entire world changed forever.

This day started as they all normally did, with him taking care of his mum. After administering her daily doses of medication and informing the visiting nurse of how she'd fared the night before, they had a light breakfast of tea and toast together before he left for school.

Once he arrived, he headed straight to his first class. He quickly passed by all the other sixteen-year-olds hanging about chatting and snogging in the hallways. After he took his seat, he began pulling out the prior evening's assignment, anxiously waiting for the class to begin.

Soon, following the bell, a wave of students entered, all grumbling that yet another day of school had begun. The professor took his place at the head of the class and, without delay, started the day's lesson—Victorian writers.

The night before during his readings, William was intrigued that one of the most famous writers of the period, George Eliot, was actually a woman who used a male penname, so that she would be taken seriously. As he read the story of her life, he intimately understood how it felt to be burdened by other people's perceptions, especially when those notions were far from the truth of who one truly was.

Once the other students quieted, his professor started the lecture by reading a poem by, George Eliot called, "Sweet Endings Come and Go, Love."

"Sweet evenings come and go, love,  
>They came and went of yore:<br>This evening of our life, love,  
>Shall go and come no more.<p>

When we have passed away, love,  
>All things will keep their name;<br>But yet no life on earth, love,  
>With ours will be the same.<p>

The daisies will be there, love,  
>The stars in heaven will shine:<br>I shall not feel thy wish, love,  
>Nor thou my hand in thine.<p>

A better time will come, love,  
>And better souls be born:<br>I would not be the best, love,  
>To leave thee now forlorn."<p>

During the reading, William was transfixed. It felt as if each word touched his very soul. To him, this poem spoke of the pain his mum felt after his da's passing and how she never seemed to truly smile after that day. William knew his mum loved him deeply, but he also knew she still mourned his da. It was clearly evident when he looked into her eyes. There was something missing. That spark was gone.

When the professor finished the poem, he asked the class what it had meant to them. He was met with mostly silence, but there were also some whispered snickers from a few male students calling the author a "Nancy boy."

William, on the other hand, had dozens of feelings and thoughts about the piece. His mind recited them all, yet he couldn't say a word. Finally, after gaining courage from some hidden part of himself, he tentatively raised his hand to give a response. This would've been the first time he had voluntarily given an answer in any class. But before he could be called upon, the headmaster of the school knocked on the classroom door, interrupting the lesson.

With a brief nod from the professor, the headmaster entered and immediately approached the other man. While hushed whispers began between the two adults, William resumed his readings about George Eliot and completely tuned out the goings on in the room.

So when he heard the headmaster speak to the class, he wasn't fully listening. He believed he heard his name, but quickly pushed the notion away. William mainly kept to himself and was never in trouble. It wouldn't be he whom the headmaster was looking for.

Then, he felt a sudden change in the room. The normal chatter was gone, replaced by an eerie silence. Feeling slightly unsettled, William looked up from his readings and immediately noticed both adults staring at him intently. Also, even without looking around, he could now feel the other students' gazes. William shifted uncomfortably under everyone's scrutiny before he heard the headmaster's second request for him.

Even though he'd never been in this predicament before, William promptly began collecting his belongings. All the while his mind filled with dread as he tried to ignore the other students' whispered questions and muttered boorish remarks.

William's fears got the best of him while he followed the headmaster out of the classroom and down the hallway. His mind raced with thoughts of what he had done. Even though he couldn't image what it could be, he felt his anxiety rising all the same. Once they arrived, William was brought into an office where another teacher, whom he didn't know, was waiting.

Once they entered, the teacher, a middle-aged, heavyset woman with graying hair pulled into a bun that accentuated the lines etched in the corners of her eyes, stood, approached him, and gently placed her hand on his back. Without a word, she slowly guided William to one of the matching set of high-back, leather chairs situated in front of the headmaster's desk. After he sat, the pair of adults followed. The woman sat in the adjacent chair to William, while the headmaster took his seat behind his desk.

William waited anxiously to hear why he was there. All too soon he knew. After the woman tenderly sandwiched one of his hands between hers, she'd delivered the devastating, soul-crushing news.

"William, your mum, well, I'm aware you knew she was quite ill…" and that was all he remembered. He could no longer hear anything but the pounding of his heart nor see anything, due to the watery veil of tears that blanketed his vision.

The rest of his memories surrounding the time of his mum's death remained only flashes in his mind: sitting on his bed, dressed in all black, cradling her picture in his hands. Then too, there were memories of the priest speaking highly of his mum and how brave she was during her life that was cut far too short and the slow procession of mourners to the gravesite, where they stood in the cold, steady rain that masked his falling tears.

His uncle, his last living relative whom he'd only met twice before, awkwardly wrapped his arms around him, trying to give comfort. Sitting in his den with all the furniture pushed against the wall in a macabre circle, and being surrounded by dozens of people, but feeling utterly alone, as he heard only bits and pieces of their words as they spoke directly to him and to each other: "I'm sorry for your loss." "She was so young." And "What will happen to young William now?"

It wasn't until later that night, when he was sitting alone in his room that one coherent thought finally settled in his mind. "What will happen to me now?" It was strangely at that moment when his Uncle Rupert had emerged in his doorway looking more than a bit worse for wear. His clothes were rumpled, eyes bloodshot, and he held a tumbler filled with amber liquid.

Again, William only remembered fragments of this one-sided conversation, but one thing remained certain—he was being taken from his home, leaving England, and going to the States—California to be exact.

William never responded to his uncle, which he might have taken his lack of words as acceptance. This was far from the truth. From the moment his uncle left, a fury that William had never felt before ignited inside. He was _not_ going to be taken from his home, taken from everything he'd ever known, to be carted over five thousand miles away to a strange place with a virtual stranger.

Instantly, he'd made his decision. He began rushing frantically around his room. First he grabbed all his money from its secret hiding place, hastily stuffing it in his pockets with a few important mementos. Once done, he threw on his jacket and climbed out his bedroom window. Despite William never having left this way in the past, he gracefully clambered down the old oak tree as if he'd done this a dozen times before. Once his feet landed firmly on the ground, he took off running.

He continued to run even though his lungs burned from his rapid, strenuous breaths, and his legs shook from exertion. He finally stopped when he could go no further. His body almost buckled from exhaustion. William bent over and braced his hands on his knees, while he tried to catch his breath.

Once he'd slowed his breathing, he stood and looked around to figure out exactly where he was. Even though he'd been living in London all his life and he felt he knew the streets pretty well, it seemed as though with the shroud of darkness covering the city and his mind still gripped by grief, he had to finally admit he was lost.

Defeated, William pulled from his pocket the poem of "Sweet Endings Come and Go, Love," that he'd ripped from his literature book and clutched it in his hand. With weary steps, he walked over to a small alleyway to his left. He sat down heavily on a pile of wooden crates near the back door of some hole-in-the-wall pub. While the tears began to flow in earnest, an unexpected but oddly soothing voice coming from the shadows stopped his sobbing instantly.

"And I wonder…what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?"

William's gaze snapped up from the poem in his hand, and searched the shadows trying to find where this voice had come from. When the owner of this voice stepped out from the darkness, she began walking toward him. She'd appeared to almost glide upon the air. Before he could react, she was tenderly wiping away a stay tear from his cheek while she spoke her last word.

At first, he was in complete awe. She was the most beautiful girl, no woman, he had ever seen. She had large, inquisitive blue eyes, long raven hair full of soft curls, and her willowy figure was accentuated by a velvet, form-fitting crimson dress.

He stared at her for a few moments before he was hit hard with the reality that some strange and possibly crazy woman was standing before him and blocking his only way out of the alley. He quickly pulled away from her touch, almost as if she'd burnt him. His anger from earlier came through when he responded to her crazy words.

"Piss off!"

He had hoped his rude brush off would make her go away. Instead, she seemed even more fascinated with him. She moved closer and boldly settled her body between his parted legs, hanging over the edge of the crates. She then placed her hand on his chest, right above his heart and leaned closer to him, her full lips brushing against his ear.

"Your strength inside calls to me; it's a siren's song I cannot ignore. Come with me, and we will show all those who had written you off as weak, how wrong they were. You are a strong man trapped in the confinements of a boy's mind. Let me help you break free from that prison and show the world who you truly are— a fighter."

In his mind, well the rational part, he knew she was crazy. _This_ was crazy. But there was something about how she looked at him that seemed to look beyond an awkward teen and saw something more.

It was at that moment he'd decided he was no longer going to be William— the shy, quiet boy that hid behind books. He would become who this peculiar woman saw in her mind's eye—the fighter.

Acting completely out of character, William grabbed her by the upper arms, and after his gaze flickered across her features briefly, he'd covered her mouth clumsily with his. After he placed several sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on her lips, he felt her laughter pass his and echoed through the alley. Her laughter stirred his anger once more. He pulled away quickly, his eyes narrowing. When she noticed this, her laughter ended, and she immediately tried to calm him.

"So hungry my fighter is. I will show you how to pleasure me…soon. Right now, we must see Daddy. He will let me know if I am allowed to keep you or not."

With that, she shimmed out from the cradle of his thighs and held her hand out to him. Without a word, he slid his hand in hers and obediently followed her out of the alley and into this new life.

It was that night when he had found out who "Daddy" and, more importantly, who this woman was. Her name was Drusilla, and her "Daddy" was a hulking, brutish man named Angelus.

William was also introduced to a small group of runaways that night. They were a mix of damaged and disowned teens who didn't want to live by society's or their parents' rules any longer. In the streets, they were the masters of their world. William found out quickly where his place was among them—at the bottom.

William became the lookout when they broke into businesses, homes, and cars. He was the last to receive the scraps from stolen meals. He slept on the floor with no blankets, while everyone else had a warm blanket and even a couch to sleep on. As for Angelus and his girlfriend, Darla, they always took the biggest bed in the place where they were squatting. Then there was Drusilla. She ended up staying wherever and with whomever the _fairies_ told her to.

Every time William wanted to walk away from this new life, his mind quickly brought forth the alternative: going back to his uncle and inevitability leaving for California. Even though he hated this option, he hated his current life more. However, on the several occasions he decided to leave, it seemed Drusilla sensed his mind faltering, and she would coax him back with cunning words and a few chaste kisses, quickly crumbling his resolve.

For the next month, William continued in this dreadful life, until one night his world changed once again. That night started out like every other. The group had met up at their regular hangout after they are separated earlier to "dine and ditch." William stood alone in the shadows of the building, while the others were chattering excitedly, deciding what to do for "fun."

William kept his eyes downcast, but randomly stole glances toward Dru, who, along with Darla, was clinging onto Angelus' arms, as the trio remained deep in conversation. Abruptly, Angelus shrugged the women off and began walking toward the group. William dropped his gaze again, not wanting to catch Angelus' attention. His eyes remained on the ground until a pair of shoes entered into his line of vision. Slowly, he raised his gaze and met with Angelus' hardened stare.

"So, Willie, Dru thinks you're worth somethin'. I begged to differ, but since she's _convinced_ me to give you a chance, I've decided to give you this one time to prove your worth. Whadya say, boy?"

He was at a loss. Angelus had always tormented him, calling him names and pushing him around. Fortunately, those times were few and far between. William did fairly well at staying out of his way and keeping to the shadows. The only time he showed himself was when Angelus barked out orders to their small group. As did the others, he just nodded and scurried to do his bidding.

At first, William silently questioned why he and the others followed Angelus so devoutly, but he now understood completely after his short period of time being here. Even though Angelus was a bastard, he kept those beneath them fed and warm, and when living on the streets of London that was all that mattered.

So that night when Angelus had approached him, William knew he needed to prove his worth. When William felt a brutal blow land above his left eye, it was obvious how Angelus wanted him to prove himself. Instantly, he felt the bolt of pain ricocheting through his head. His vision blackened for a moment, and his mind spun.

William staggered to the right to gain his footing and instinctually threw out his hands to brace himself against the rapidly approaching wall. He immediately felt something hot and wet trickling down the side of his face.

He raised a shaky hand and gingerly touched his brow. After exploring the area briefly, he felt another flash of pain. He slowly withdrew his fingers and brought them into his line of vision. Seeing the tips dripping red, he knew what had happened. The blow had snapped his wire frames and the sharp metal had sliced into his brow.

He removed his now ruined glasses and threw them to the ground. William steadily stood to full height while he blinked several times to adjust his eyes to his new view of the world, sans glasses. Despite the slight blurriness of his vision, he instantly noticed Angelus was now standing several feet away his lips twisted in an evident smirk.

William felt the anger inside him rise. In a mere instant, he was seething with utter hatred—hatred for Angelus and everything a bully like him represented. William rushed him. His yell, sounding like a battle cry, echoed in his wake. After this point, his memories are of only spilled blood, flailing arms and legs, pain, and eventually of himself—standing over the bloodied and beaten body of his once tormentor.

From that moment on, he was no longer William. The person who had answered to that name was now dead and buried with any last shred of innocence and weakness that remained. After he'd beaten Angelus, Drusilla had, in addition to taking him to her bed for the first time, given him a new name—Spike. She gave him this moniker while they lay intertwined in bed as she ran her sharp, talon-like nails over his battered body.

"You are reborn. With birth, a new name is bestowed upon you. You have finally become the fighter the fairies told me about. Sharp and deadly, you have finally become my Spike."

During the next five months, he became the total embodiment of who he thought _Spike_ should be. Gone was his unruly, drab brown hair: in its place shocking platinum locks, harshly gelled in order to force the curl to obey and lay straight. He never replaced his broken glasses. They were left in the alley along with his past. Also, he no longer hid behind loose, ill-fitting clothes in colors of khaki and shades of blue. Now, his wardrobe was form fitting, in only black and red—the colors of destruction and the night. Of all the changes, he prided himself most on the tri-secting scar marring his left brow.

Along with his outward appearance, his mindset and personality had changed as well. He was no longer afraid of speaking his mind or of confrontation. He actually welcomed the fight, craved it. Whether it was verbal or physical, he threw himself in the thick of it. His motto, "Strike first, ask questions _never._" His patience and understanding were replaced by a quick wit and a short temper. He walked the streets of London no longer with a fast paced gait and his eyes downcast, but a cocky swagger with his steely gaze remaining fixed on his surroundings, forcing others to look away. Completing his transformation, his once cultured voice, filled with educated words and topics, was replaced by a brash Cockney accent, littered with crass words and slang.

He became a pivotal part of their merry band of misfits. Yet, he never took the lead. Being the big boss was Angelus' bag, and he didn't want any part of it. In his mind, all he needed were these: Dru on his arm and in his bed and the utter respect from the group, even Angelus, which he'd completely earned and demanded.

The William of yore was long forgotten, and gratefully so. This was until one April evening, when he and Dru had broken into a local toy store to nick a new doll for her, when his world changed yet again.

While Spike sat and watched Dru flutter, as a butterfly among fragrant flowers, between several porcelain dolls on the shelves, his lips held a soft smile that only she was privy to. Without warning, he heard the front door crash open and several demanding screams of "Freeze!" Before he was able to grab Dru and run, he was surrounded by a handful of Johnny Hoppers. The pair were cuffed and shoved in the back of their car within moments.

When they arrived at the station, he was quickly whisked into one room, while she was lead away to another. Spike's agitation and restlessness increased tenfold with each passing minute he waited alone. Since he was handcuffed to the large table in the middle of the interrogation room, he wasn't able to expend this excess energy.

With his patience completely gone, Spike started to yell and holler, trying to get someone's attention. It finally worked. A slightly balding, heavy set man dressed in a pair of cheap polyester pants and a striped tie littered with several undistinguishable stains, entered the room.

Before Spike could demand to see Dru, he was rendered speechless by a picture that was thrown on the table in front of him. It was a picture of him. Well, of him prior to becoming Spike. Complete with glasses and floppy, curly brown hair and all. Spike looked up from the picture in amazement.

"Yeah, your crazy, doll lovin' girlfriend told us who you were. She said some rot about her shapin' you into who you were meant to be and now you needed to go into the sun. I didn't have a bleedin' clue what she was talkin' about until she gave me your name-William Pratt. The name sounded familiar. It didn't take me long to remember. You're the lad, whose uncle from California has been callin' us nonstop, almost every day, to see if we've found you. We thought you fell off the face of the earth or worse, but here you are. With that hair and no specs, I would've never had a clue."

Spike's gaze moved from the picture to the man and back while the he spoke. He tried to remember what his life was like prior to the past six months. He couldn't, nor did he want to. There lay only pain. It was only during these past five months, when finally there was none. No more hurt, no more feeling that he was less than what he was. He had become the man that he was meant to be.

All of this was because of Drusilla. She was his savior, despite her craziness that was caused by her beloved "dots." She delivered him from mediocrity and showed him what he truly was, a fighter.

As he tried to find his voice, another man, a carbon copy of the man sitting across from him, came in. The original man stood and approached his mirror image. The pair whispered back and forth for a moment, then the first man left.

"Well, William, it seems you'll be keepin' us company for awhile. See my captain got a hold of your uncle and child welfare services. Guess they all agreed since you're a "flight risk," you'll be enjoying one of our comfy accommodations 'till your uncle arrives from the States. Lucky you."

For the first time, Spike found his voice. It sounded as defeated as he felt.

"What 'bout Dru?"

"Your girl," Spike nodded, and the man continued, "She's gone. Her parents came and took her home 'bout an hour ago."

After he was told this, Spike had nothing else to say. He kept silent even when he was brought to a solitary cell and given a nasty tray of what they called food. He forgone the "food," curled up on the cot, and hoped sleep would take him away.

During his time in the cell, Spike only woke to use the loo. The final time he'd opened his eyes, fourteen hours later, a familiar face on the other side of the bars met his weary gaze—his uncle's.

Spike stood from the cot when the officer began unlocking the cell. When the cell door opened, Rupert had moved from the bars and stood in at the opening, eyeing his drastically changed nephew.

"William, my lord, what happened? I never…you should've…I mean... I'm so glad you're safe."

Spike didn't say a word. All he did was return his uncle's stare briefly, skirt around him, and walk out of the cell. After they left the station, and during the entire car ride, Spike only responded to his uncle's questions with grunts and one-word answers.

When they reached the house, which was no longer his home since everything that made it so was gone, Spike quickly collected his meager belongings. All the while, his uncle stood in the doorway watching his every move.

He didn't want much, only a few books, his journals, and a few bits of clothing to tide him over until he was able to get more. Of all the things he collected, the only item that mattered was the box full of pictures of his parents and a book of poems that contained his favorite by George Eliot.

Less than 24 hours later, they were on a plane heading to California, and as his uncle worded it, to begin his _new_ life.

_The Present_

Will blinked steadily as he came out of his memories. He could feel tears that he didn't initially realize were there rolling down his cheeks. When he stepped away from the door, he noticed the faint light that was there earlier was now gone.

After Will took several deep and steady breaths, he turned and headed toward his bed. He sat down heavily, before resting his elbows on his knees and lowering his face to the cradle of his palms. After a few quiet moments, he lifted his head and his hands dropped to hang between his parted thighs.

Earlier this evening, he had compiled all the bad events in his life into a short list comprised of only three things, with all of them involving Buffy. He didn't put anything from childhood on the list. It wasn't because these events weren't devastating—far from it. Devastation wasn't, nor was there, a strong enough word to describe the death of his parents.

However, all the things that had happened to him when he was younger, one way or another, had played an intricate part in creating who he is today. As he sat with dozens of complicated feelings and thoughts swirling through his mind, he wished for only one thing. He'd wished for a simpler time, a time when a single scribbled picture was able to make the world right again.

Author's Notes:

Big thanks to betas: Sanityfair and Diebirchen

I couldn't help it. The first line Dru says to William is from _Fool for Love._ Thank you, Douglas Petrie, for that awesome line. Hell, let's thank him for the entire awesome episode!

Johnny Hoppers are UK slang for police officers. Dots are the street slang for LSD

*peeking through fingers* whatcha think? Be gentle, I'm fragile! Reviews are loved and cherished, and even if I don't respond to them right away, I do a mini Snoopy dance with each and everyone! Oh...hope you like the new banner, wanted something new.


	8. Chapter 8: The Making of the Man

_"You are now at a crossroads. This is your opportunity to make the most important decision you will ever make. Forget your past. Who are you now? Who have you decided you really are now? Don't think about who you have been. Who are you now? Who have you decided to become? Make this decision consciously. Make it carefully. Make it powerfully."_

Anthony Robbins

Will stood from his bed and wearily ambled toward the door. This time, he easily turned the knob on his first try. He stepped into the hallway, and his gaze lingered only momentarily on the wooden barrier between himself and Buffy, before he headed into the loo.

He closed the door quietly behind him and flicked on the light switch. His lids involuntarily closed, shielding his sensitive eyes from the harsh fluorescent lights, before they gradually fluttered opened. Once his eyes became accustomed to the brightness, Will moved in front of the mirror and stared intently at man in the glass. It had been a long time since he _really_ looked at himself.

He looked like shit. Well, that was an understatement. It was clearly evident how drained he felt, both emotionally and mentally, as fatigue hung like a heavy veil over his features. He'd noticed several more lines had joined the others at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. His natural hair color, a stark contrast to his bleached tresses, was evident at the exposed roots. While he continued to seek out more imperfections, his exploration ended when his eyes locked firmly on his own gaze.

Despite all these tell-tale signs of exhaustion, his eyes were the same blue they'd always been. However, by the same token, they were different, ever changing.

When he had been William, their depths shone with the innocence and naiveté of youth, with a hint of sadness due to his parents' short, difficult lives, and the cruelty of others. As Spike, they were constantly brimming with anger and hostility, which intensified when he stood against and took down his adversaries, tearing them apart with his harsh words and brutal blows. However now, the man before him wasn't William or Spike; he was Will, a combination of both—two sides of the same coin.

At times he'd believed the idea of seeing himself as three distinct people was utter madness. Only a narcissist, an egomaniac, or someone who tried to deny themselves in their purest form did that. Nonetheless, even though he knew his _Three Faces of Eve_ were all the same man, there were only certain people privy to the side of himself that remained well hidden and fiercely protected by his other personalities.

Will continued to stare intently into his eyes. Soon, his vision became blurry, while his earlier memories resumed their trek.

At first, he had a very difficult time adjusting to life in California and living with his Uncle Rupert. Fortunately for him, Rupert was patient, kind, and understanding. He'd given Spike the space he'd needed, which he'd used to his full advantage. For the first few months, Spike had rarely seen his uncle and had spoken to him even less.

Spike spent his days locked away in his room and would only come out in the dead of the night to eat and watch telly. The only reasons he believed his uncle knew he was still alive was by the obnoxiously loud punk music Spike blared behind his closed bedroom door and the substantial amount of food missing from the kitchen.

After several months, during one of his rare daytime outings from his room, Rupert had tried to engage him in a conversation—which had been completely one-sided. During those five minutes, Rupert had cornered Spike in the kitchen and had suggested due to his outstanding grades and intelligence, he should take the California High School Proficiency Examination, so he could head straight to university in September.

Spike didn't respond or even give his uncle a second glance as he passed him and went into the pantry to grab a box of Weetabix before heading back to his room. He disregarded his uncle's suggestion immediately. Spike wanted no part of going to school and certainly had no intentions of staying in California. His plans were already set. The day he was of age, he was on the first plane to London and eventually back to Drusilla's side.

However, after one eventful summer night, despite his previous adamancy, he forgot those plans completely. That night there was a power outage. The sweltering heat had made staying upstairs unbearable, and no matter how he'd tried, Spike was unable to get comfortable. Soon, against his better judgment, he'd decided to head downstairs. The house was dark and quiet, and he didn't see his uncle anywhere. Spike decided to look for him, since there was nothing else to do to pass the time until the lights came back on.

He didn't have to go very far. He soon found his uncle out on the terrace, sitting under the stars and reading by the soft glow of a gas lantern. When curiosity quickly replaced boredom, Spike stepped quietly out the back door onto the brick patio to see what type of story would make his uncle clearly disregard the heat and the poor lighting in his eagerness to read. After several steps, he was close enough to make out the title: _The Lifted Veil_ by George Eliot.

It had been almost nine months since he'd picked up a book or even had any desire to indulge in his past interests. However, seeing the name in golden letters across the leather bound cover made his heart clench. It had been so long since he had allowed any thoughts of his past to come forward. They had been stored in the deepest recesses of his mind. For these past months, he'd hidden behind the tough exterior of Spike. He'd never let anyone close, nor had he shown any emotions—especially not his pain.

For the first time since he had become Spike, the pain of his mum's passing swelled and crashed inside him. He briefly closed his eyes, attempting to block out the visual trigger of these rushing memories. Soon there came an unfamiliar feeling of hot tears started spilling down his cheeks. The intense need to breakdown—to purge these bottled up feelings by screaming, crying, and breaking things overwhelmed him.

Quickly, he turned toward the door to head back into the safety of his room. He only took a few steps before his uncle's voice rang out into the quiet night, stilling him instantly.

Since Rupert hadn't acknowledged his presence earlier, Spike had assumed he didn't know he was there. Of course he knew. Rupert was overall far more perceptive than Spike had ever given him credit for.

"She was an incredibly brilliant woman. She shared an extraordinary love with a man, who some say was her soul mate. I know she means a lot to you. She means a lot to me, too, always has. Despite the length of time between, um…readings, I've cherished all the times she's been in my life. She's truly missed, um, by the literary community."

Without a word, Spike turned from the door and looked at his uncle. He could see in the dim light his eyes shone with unshed tears. Tentatively, he walked toward Rupert and sat in the empty patio chair next to him. They sat in silence for several moments before Spike whispered, "I miss her too."

Their relationship changed after that night. They had grown closer, and after some time had passed, he allowed Rupert to call him Will. This name was a compromise, since he didn't want to be called William, and Rupert refused to call him by that "bloody ridiculous moniker."

Rupert had renewed Will's love for literature, encouraged him to continue keeping his journal, which he hadn't written in since the day of his mum's passing, and taught him how to play guitar and write lyrics. Within a week after the night on the patio, he'd signed up to take the proficiency examination, and a month later he had enrolled for the fall semester at UCLA.

Will remembered the first day he stepped on campus. While he walked along the quad toward his first class, his previously longtime companions of apprehension and awkwardness began to bubble up inside. He knew he was a walking contradiction to all those milling around on campus. His black on black attire, platinum hair, and pale skin were a far cry from the array of bright colors and pastels worn by the other bronzed-skinned students.

However, he quickly pushed past these feelings and brought out the side of himself that never showed fear or uncertainty. After shifting into his Spike persona, he continued toward his first class. Despite his cool exterior, the reservations that he shouldn't be there still troubled him slightly.

He'd never believed in fate much, regardless of what part of his personality was in the forefront. He was more of a you-make-your-own-way kind of guy. However, it was difficult to ignore, even for a skeptic like himself, the tell-tale signs he received during his very first class, Introduction to Literature. While the professor gave his spiel about what the class entailed, he handed out the syllabus. There, on the very top of the list of famous writers they would be discussing that semester was her name, George Eliot. He knew right then and there, this was where he was meant to be.

His first year went by smoothly, and during his second year of school, he moved into his own apartment; however, he'd remained close to Rupert. Despite what his uncle called him, everyone else knew him as Spike, the brash-talking, whiskey-swigging punk, who looked like pure trouble, but could win any battle of the wits without batting an eye.

Two years later, he graduated Summa Cum Laude and Valedictorian, with a BA in Comparative Literature. Despite the dozens of offers to continue on to graduate school and several small newspapers looking for a gopher, he knew he wasn't the shirt and tie type, and he needed time to decide what he truly wanted to do.

While pondering what to do "when he grew up," he got a job as a bouncer at a gentleman's club—more specifically, a gay nightclub called the Double Meat Palace or DMP for short. Despite the fact that many straight men would have an issue working there, Spike was not one of them.

Overall, it was a decent job. The pay was good with half-priced drinks and food, and every Wednesday night was open-mic night, and his boss, Lorne, let him sing a song or two and play his guitar.

There were patrons who hit on him claiming they loved the whole "creature of the night" vibe they said he gave off, but it never went any further. After he politely turned them down and following their usual comments of how his cheekbones, eyes, and lips were wasted on a straight guy, they would head off looking for another "hottie."

It was at the DMP where he met one of his closest mates, Doyle. They both started working there at the same time. Their positions opened up when the previous bouncer and bartender broke up an ensuing drama, which quickly littered the bar with broken bottles, screams, and flying fists. Lorne had promptly fired the ex-lovers.

He and Doyle hit it off immediately. They would hang out regularly, both on their nights off and after work. Usually after their shift in the early morning hours, they would always hit a local diner to grab something to eat before they headed their separate ways.

Even though they had their regular hangouts, Doyle had suggested another greasy spoon that he had walked by after he'd missed his bus stop the night before. Despite the particularly rough night at work, Spike had agreed on trying this new place, so they headed toward the all-night diner he'd suggested, to grab a plate of runny eggs and some coffee. 

Author's Notes:

Big thanks to my betas: Sanityfair and Diebirchen

_Three Faces of Eve_ was a 1957 movie staring Joanne Woodward. It was about a woman who had DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) formally known as Multiple Personality Disorder-oh, and yes, the comments about being an egomaniac and the like was a shot at Angel/Angelus!

_The Lifted Veil_ by George Eliot was a novella about a man who was gifted/cursed with the ability to see into the future and other's thoughts.

End Notes:

Well...*peeking through my fingers* what did you think? I know its so much shorter than my usual chapters, but I felt that this couldn't have been latched onto the last chapter, or placed at the beginning of the next, so it needed to be all by it's lonesome. Hopefully it worked.


	9. Chapter 9: A New Perspective

_"It's always darkest just before the dawn."_

Proverb

As Will's eyes started coming into focus, the first thing he noticed was the faintest of smiles gracing his lips. After several moments his gaze moved from this smile and flickered over his features. He noticed he looked less fatigued. Even with the lingering weariness, there was now a pleasant addition—contentment.

Although he'd been on an emotional roller coaster since late last night, Will's smile remained as he stepped away from the mirror and leisurely walked toward the shower. It had been tremendously difficult for both his mind and soul while dredging up all these disconcerting memories. However, he knew you needed to remember the bad to appreciate the good even more.

While his mind started buzzing with anticipation in remembering more of the "good," he stuck his hand in past the shower curtain and turned on the water. Instantly, the once silent room echoed with the hissing of running water rushing through the pipes and pouring through the showerhead.

Once he'd felt the water was hot enough, he pulled his hand out and took off his pajama bottoms. He drew back the curtain and stepped inside. After closing the curtain behind him, he moved under the steady flow of hot water and released a heavy sigh, as the cleansing stream drenched his hair and body. Little by little, the hard spray worked to loosen the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders.

The steady tempo of water began gradually pulling him back into his memories. With his mind on autopilot, he pulled a bar of soap from the tiled ledge and began forming a rich lather with his hands. While he worked the white foam leisurely over his body, he swore he could hear the soft tinkle of the diner's bell as memories flooded again into his mind.

_Seven Years Ago_

Spike begrudgingly followed Doyle into the diner. Due to the horrible night he had at the DMP, all he wanted to do was head directly home and not out for a heart attack on a plate. However, Doyle had prattled on and on about this place, and Spike knew the only way to get the mick to shut his gob was to give in.

After entering, Spike quickly scanned the room before noticing the furthest booth from the door was unoccupied. Almost in sync, he and Doyle headed toward it, only passing a few patrons along the way. Once seated, Doyle pulled a laminated menu out from behind the napkin dispenser and opened it eagerly.

"Ah, what shall it be? Hmm…what to choose…what to choose. So many brilliant choices, but despite the sheer array of artery blocking delights, I think I have it narrowed down to a choice between the Stroke-burger with bacon, cheese, and their "secret sauce" and the Bi-pass Special of three fried eggs, bangers, and a ham steak. Anything catchin' your fancy, Spike?"

Doyle continued eyeing the menu while Spike's attention was elsewhere. Despite how hungry his companion seemed to be, he'd already decided on coffee only. As he waited with dwindling patience for his friend to make a decision, he noticed in the large window behind Doyle two waitresses waging some sort of non-verbal war with one another. The glass somewhat distorted their reflection, but the scowl on one of the waitress' faces with unmistakable. It screamed, "Just get off your arse!"

The one facing away from him obviously had lost, since she begrudgingly stood from her seat and turned toward their booth. The moment he saw her face, he'd become instantly mesmerized.

She was an absolute vision. Despite the obnoxious bright yellow of her ugly polyester uniform, it was strangely flattering to her petite form as it accentuated the slight swell of her breasts and tiny waist. Her long, blond hair was swept into a messy bun held by two strategically placed pencils. Spike's gaze remained unwavering while he watched her rummage briefly through her apron pockets and head toward them.

When she arrived at the table, Spike studied her more closely. He noticed instantly the mirror did not do her beauty justice. Her sun-kissed, flawless skin looked almost as smooth as silk. Her hair was a beautiful shade of honeyed-gold with lighter blonde tendrils scattered throughout. Her up-swept hair accentuated her slender neck and her pixie-like features of large eyes, a small upturned nose, and full lips currently drawn in a faux smile. Regardless of the smile's insincerity, it had him enthralled all the same.

Then she spoke. Her sweet-sounding voice instantly became his siren's song, dragging him closer to the ever-dangerous rocks. Then, with her name, he crashed. _Anne._ She bore the same name of the only woman he'd ever loved. For the second time in his life, it seemed fate was making her presence known.

Spike watched with rapt interest while her gaze remained completely fixed on Doyle. She almost appeared lost at the mere sight of him and for some reason, despite how insane it was, since he didn't even know her from Eve, this made him swell with seething jealously. It was as if on some primal level, he had already staked a claim to her, and her showing interest in anyone else beside himself, made his inner caveman beat his chest in a clear challenge to take on any other man who stood in his way.

Spike decided, after several more moments of watching her unrelenting gaze, that he had enough and couldn't bear it any longer! He cleared his throat loudly, which almost sounded like an animalistic growl, to get her attention. Finally, this seemed to work.

Then her gaze moved from Doyle to him. He noticed immediately her eyes were a beautiful shade of green with tiny golden flecks throughout. Spike swore the minute their eyes locked that there was an unspoken and profound connection between them.

_Where is this all coming from?_

On the heels of his last thought, Spike immediately threw on his mental brakes as he tried to understand what exactly was happening. After briefly scrutinizing all his unguarded and heartfelt thoughts and feelings for this tiny waitress before him, he suddenly realized what was happening. Unwittingly, William had made his way to the surface, trying to have his say, and this scared him to the very core.

Since "Spike" came to be, William had been kept well hidden. Like a sacred and hidden treasure over which countries wage bloody war, William had remained well protected behind fortified walls with a fierce guardian. Rarely did others see this side; only a few people had been privy to this part of him, and those that had, gradually earned that privilege.

Never before had someone, especially a person about whom he knew nothing, gotten past Spike so effortlessly, gaining access to William. The fact that this mere slip of a woman had caused William to show himself without a second thought made Spike even more vigilant in keeping himself safe-guarded.

While her gaze appeared fixed, most likely openly scrutinizing him, Spike pushed William down. He'd ordered himself to stand behind the ramparts of blatant disrespect and callousness—Spike's weapons of choice.

At first when he launched his attack, she claimed she didn't hear him and asked him to repeat himself. The second time, with increasingly more venom dripping from his words, he made sure he got his point across. It seemed to work when he overhead her mumblings of displeasure under her breath, while she walked away.

Once she was gone, strangely and almost instantly, Spike felt a deep pang of regret swell inside himself. For the first time ever, William seemed to have his say about Spike taking charge, and by the way this regret continued gnawing at him, he feared he might have been too hasty in pushing William away.

Spike continued to watch her as she placed and filled their orders. Being too absorbed by his own warring thoughts, he only caught the tail end of Doyle's attempt at a conversation.

"…and you know the camp blond always sittin' at the end of the bar? He told me you agreed to dress up as Boba Fett. Now, I told him he was mistaken. You're more the Darth Vader type. Ya know, with the deep voice and your fondness for black."

"Yeah, that's…wait, what?" Spike began to agree with Doyle, until what he'd said finally sank in. His gaze snapped from the reflection and landed on his friend. Doyle smirked as he witnessed Spike's eyes comically widening with alarm.

"Knew that would get your attention! I've been carrin' on a conversation with myself for five minutes or so, and you know how I hate talkin' to myself. Well, when there are other people around. Anyway, if you're interested in the girlie, go and talk to her."

"What, 'm not interested in her. Pfffft! And, just for the record, m' especially not interested in playin' dress up with Andrew."

"So usin' the window behind me while 'm tryin' to have an enlightening conversation with you isn't starin' at her? Huh, I guess you're not interested, since you were such an _arse_ to her earlier."

"I wasn't—" Spike tried to defend himself, but Doyle's pointed look made him realize it was futile to not admit the truth. "Fine, I was a right bastard bein' rude to her. But, in my defense, she caught me off guard."

"Yeah, yeah, I know this is a new concept for you, Mr. I-flash-a-little-come-hither-look-and-all-the-women-swoon, but we mere mortals sometimes have to make the first move—"

"Well…" Doyle held up his hand to stifle his friend's continued flow of words, since he knew they would only lead to some sort of story involving him and a hottie, which he didn't want to hear—again.

"Ya better listen up, Spike, or 'm not gonna impart my words of wisdom."

Following a heavy melodramatic sigh with complementary eye roll, Spike leaned slightly forward, giving Doyle his undivided attention. "Fine, fine, oh great one. Please continue, Yoda."

"Very well, young Skywalker, it's simple. It's the girls who aren't practically throwin' their panties at you the first time you meet them that are worth their weight in gold."

"That's it? Those are your words of wisdom?" Spike's scarred brow rose as he skeptically eyed his friend.

"Hey, I know first hand 'bout takin' your time. Take the fair Cordelia, for instance. Been tryin' to get her attention for almost a year now. Soon I'll be makin' my move."

"So, all those new and painful places you've decided to manscape on a monthly basis, at that salon she works at, are all part of your grand plan to woo her?" Spike teased, knowing full well Doyle may talk a big game, but when it came to Cordelia, he was as tongue-tied as a schoolboy, just the same way Spike felt right now.

"These things take time. Anyway, this is not about the beautiful Cordelia. This is about your potential honey. Now, I may be wrong. She may fall for the pulling her pigtails and pushing her down in the schoolyard approach that you tried earlier. She might like that whole bad-boy thing. I seriously doubt it, but stranger things have happened."

Just then, the woman they were discussing placed a cup of coffee in front of Spike and after telling him to "Enjoy," walked away. Spike fiddled with the cup while Doyle watched her head back to the counter.

"Now, what was that? She was 'ere and you just let her leave! Where's the initiative, man?"

Completely frustrated, Spike ran his hand through his hair, far more annoyed by his own actions, or lack thereof, than by those of the man in front of him.

"Doyle, I don't bleedin' get it! I mean, I've had my share of lookers, but she's different—I can feel it. I've never been nervous like this before. I feel like a right git! Ok, when she comes back with your nosh, 'm goin' talk to her."

Spike nodded firmly, confirming his words as he'd brought the cup to his lips. The hot liquid slid down his throat before his violated taste buds could relay to his mind the bitter foulness he had just consumed.

"Bloody 'ell!"

Spike sputtered and cursed as he looked around wildly trying to figure out what he could do to dispel the assault of the horrid taste. Quickly, he spied and swiped Doyle's glass of ice water. At first he tried a few mouthfuls, but after realizing it wasn't helping, he chugged the remaining liquid. With the water gone, he trapped some shards of ice in his teeth and started chomping them into fine bits before they melted and slid down his throat. Despite all his attempts, the bitterness still thickly coated his tongue and throat.

He took several deep swallows, finally successfully stopping his gag reflex that was threatening to have the coffee make its reappearance. All the while, Doyle's laughter filled the air in boisterous intervals. Before Spike could comment on his friend's obviously sadistic enjoyment from this, the deliverer of said foulness placed Doyle's meal down in front of him, and with complete, faux innocence asked Spike how he'd liked the coffee.

Now if it were Spike at the helm, he would've told her off. Maybe even for good measure, would've thrown the coffee in her face and asked her how she _liked_ it. However, it wasn't Spike, but rather William, in the forefront. Before he responded, Spike had swallowed once more to make sure the coffee was securely in his stomach.

"It's fine."

After he'd clearly lied, he watched as her meticulously manicured brows furrowing slightly in confusion, and her eyes take on a far away look briefly before she'd reined it in. Strangely, before she left, she gave him an unfounded but sweet smile.

Spike's gaze moved and remained on the window, watching her retreat. After several moments, his eyes returned to his clearly amazed friend. If his wide open mouth and untouched food was any indication.

"What?" Spike whispered loudly through clenched teeth.

"Nothin', nothin' at all. 'Ve just never seen the Big Bad back away from a little retribution when he's been wrong, that's all. Guess Nostradamus completely missed the mark, since the world seems to be endin' today."

Doyle's snarky comment and broad smile annoyed Spike to no end. However, all too soon he felt compelled to return it with one of his own.

"Ha—bloody ha. You're a bloody comedian, and here I thought it was only your choice in clothes that was the major punch line."

"Hey, I'll have you know these fine threads are classics! Sorry, not all of us can pull off the "creature of the night" look you're sportin'."

"No, you're more like a bleedin' 70's reject with all that polyester and the hideous patterns."

Spike smirked, and taking advantage of his distracted friend feigning insult from his words, used his fork and stole one of Doyle's sausage links, stuffing the whole thing into his mouth.

"Get your own, ya bleedin' leech!"

Doyle grabbed and brandished his butter knife, jabbing the cutlery forward and trying to thwart Spike's wayward fork that was coming closer to his plate once again. After several unsuccessful attempts, Spike laid the fork down, and his gaze returned to the window.

Once Doyle noted Spike's surrender and subsequent retreat, he placed his first bite into his mouth while pondering his unusually quiet friend. After he slowly chewed and swallowed, he motioned toward the tiny waitress with a tilt of his head.

"Ya know you have to give the girl credit. She's stealthy—hiding behind her good looks and killer smile while she served you hemlock. Clearly, she's got a lot more than air keepin' her head afloat. I like her already."

Spike continued to watch her carefully fill another saltshaker, before softly sighing, "Yeah, so do I."

Doyle leaned forward to capture his friend's gaze. When Spike's eyes met his, the certainty and seriousness in the depths of Doyle's eyes received Spike's immediate and rapt attention.

"So, what are ya goin' do about it?"

_The Present_

Will was broken from his inner musings by the now cold water biting at his flesh. He didn't know how long he'd been showering, but if the pruney-ness of his fingertips was any indication, it had been awhile. With a flick of his wrist, the water was shut off abruptly, and he stepped out of the shower.

He snatched a body-size, burgundy towel from its perch on the countertop and briskly ran it over his frigid and slightly shaking body. Once sufficiently dried and warmed, he wrapped the towel around his waist, and after brushing his teeth, applying deodorant, and hair gel, walked out of the room.

Will cast a quick glance down the hallway, only allowing his eyes to linger briefly on her door, before entering his own bedroom. After firmly closing the door behind him, Will headed over to his bureau and began to dress. He pulled out a pair of worn jeans and his favorite long-sleeved, black tee with a silver dragon design stretching across his chest and its tail wrapping around his left bicep.

After briskly drying his hair with the towel, he ran a comb through the unruly locks several times before heading downstairs. When Will descended the stairs, the heavenly aroma of coffee surrounded him. He was grateful that his coffee maker had an automatic timer, especially after the rough night he'd had. He pulled a large mug from an overhead cabinet, and poured himself a generous amount of the fragrant liquid. Gradually, he made his way to the French doors off the kitchen and overlooking the backyard.

He noticed the snow had stopped falling, and with the sun creeping over the horizon, the world appeared to be covered with millions of diamonds as its rays reflected off the snow-covered landscape. Will loved this hour—when the day met the night. This was when the world and his mind were at its most peaceful. He leisurely sipped his coffee while a quote by Edwin Way Teale crept into his mind.

_" For the mind disturbed, the still beauty of dawn is nature's finest balm."_

After he recited this quote, his memories picked up where they left off.

_Seven Years Ago_

After Doyle finished his meal, they paid the bill and headed out into the early morning. Before Spike exited, he turned to face the tiny woman who had captivated him. Almost as if she knew he was looking at her, she raised her head from her task. Instantly, their eyes locked. In that brief moment, Spike tried to convey all that he'd felt: confusion, longing, hope—before he turned and left.

Later that day, Spike lay in bed staring at the ceiling as sleep refused to come. He knew he should forget the tiny waitress, but even though he tried to circumvent his thoughts, they always returned to her. Knowing it was no use, Spike decided it was inevitable; he needed to be with her.

Now, he was new to the whole idea of wooing a woman. When he was William, he was far too shy to approach one. When he first became Spike, it was only about Drusilla. Later, when he was at university, women pursued _him._ So, all of this was a brand new territory.

Plus, this woman didn't seem like the type swayed with a smile and a leer. She had substance, and he knew he had to work to get in her good graces, especially since he already had one strike against him.

Later that night after his shift, he'd declined Doyle's offer to head to another diner. With a big smile and a slap on the back, Doyle bid him, "Good luck, mate!" before they went their separate ways.

Spike headed back to _her_ diner. He sat in the same booth he had the night before and watched as she served the other patrons before coming over to his table. Her face seemed to hold a hint of surprise due to his unexpected return, but she seemed to quickly push the look away before taking his order. Spike proceeded to daringly order another cup of coffee.

Just as it had the previous night, the swill left a foul taste on his tongue, and his stomach protested about his choice by lurching several times before it relented.

The entire time he was there, they never shared any words above basic pleasantries. Spike remained until the morning staff relieved her. He noticed she glanced his way before she slipped on her coat and headed out.

The following night he returned. She wasn't there, but Spike still ordered another cup of coffee, which this time was gratefully decent, before heading home. Over the next few weeks, he'd become a regular at the diner. Each time he took his customary spot at the furthest booth, always facing the window. Several times, Doyle had joined him. However, as time wore on, he'd decided to leave Spike alone with his "Operation Woo-the-waitress."

The conversations between Anne and himself rarely went beyond small talk, but he'd noticed as time went on, she lingered longer at his table, and her smiles became more frequent and genuine. Unfortunately, the coffee, which was the only item he ever ordered, still remained as nasty as it had the first night.

Finally, after almost a month, he'd worked up enough nerve to try to talk to her beyond ordering. That night started off the same: "'ello"—"Coffee, please." It then moved on to briefly discussing the weather or something else equally mundane, her placing another cup of liquid poison in front of him, and him trying to stomach it. Then came, "Here's your bill." However, _this_ time, when she slid her arms into her jacket and left, Spike waited for several moments before he headed out behind her.

He had been reciting what he was going to say to her at least a dozen times, but in the early morning light, he lost his nerve. So, he resorted to following her to the bus stop, maintaining a safe distance by staying in the shadows of nearby buildings. After the bus pulled to the stop and she boarded, Spike watched until the bus made its away around the corner and out of sight.

After that night, he added another thing to his agenda, following her to the bus stop. After a week of this borderline stalker-like behavior and despite his still not being ready to speak to her directly, he had no choice but to respond when she called him out one night.

"Stalk much?"

She didn't turn to face him as she continued walking toward the bus stop. She raised her voice loud enough so he could hear her words clearly as he stayed in the shadows.

Even though she obviously knew he was there, she appeared startled when he stepped out into her line of vision, materializing from the darkness. Although her words held a tone of bravado, and she had seen him at the diner quite regularly for the past month, neither seemed to lessen the apparent uneasiness his presence seemed to invoke.

All the proof he needed was witnessing her eyes briefly widening like a deer caught in headlights and her grip tightening around her key chain that held a small bottle of pepper spray. Spike, sensing her discomfort, stepped back in order to give her space and hopefully put her at ease.

"Not stalking, accompanying, totally different vibe."

He hoped his attempt at humor would put her at ease. He believed it seemed to work somewhat when the corners of her lips flickered upward in a small smile.

"Yeah, well the California stalking law seems to disagree with you. It clearly states that stalking is when someone repeatedly follows or willfully and maliciously harasses another. Am I or am I not being repeatedly followed?"

Spike was completely in awe at how casually she'd rattled off part of the statute. _Beauty and brains, what a lovely combination._

"Well, kitten, I may have repeatedly followed you, but there's no malice of any kind. I was merely assuring that you got on the bus safely. In addition, I've never threatened you or given you cause to fear for your safety."

He could tell by the surprised look, her mouth falling slightly agape and her eyes widening once again, she hadn't expected him to recite another part of the law. She seemed to get her mental balance back quickly, when she raised her chin up indignantly and her eyes flashed.

"That may be true, but the law clearly outlines when one seriously annoys another to serve no legitimate purpose it's harassment. And you, bleach boy, are _seriously_ annoying me."

"Annoying possibly, but having no legitimate purpose, not at all. I have a purpose that is very legitimate."

On the heels of his words, he witnessed her immediately take two steps back. She clutched her key chain tighter, now placing the pad of her finger to the trigger of the pepper spray.

He tried to dazzle her with his intelligence when he rattled off parts of the statute. However, it seemed to have an adverse effect. Now, instead of appearing smart, he just looked really dodgy. He knew he needed to put her misconceptions for him being there right. He took a deep breath and hoped his explanation would work.

"Look, there're all sorts of nasties lingering around here, and 'm just here to make sure they stay far away."

"So, I've earned one _big_ nasty instead of several little ones?" She narrowed her eyes skeptically, her finger remaining on the trigger.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips in response to her boldness. _Love her fire. Hardly know the girl, and she has me hook, line and sinker._

"Yeah, I guess you have. Well, unless you tell me to sod off, then all I can give you is this suggestion—forget the bus and take a taxi."

"Well, telling you to sot off, if it means what I think it means it may not be the best choice, since it appears your radioactive hair has scared away the other monsters. So, against my better judgment, I guess I'll keep you around."

"It's _sod_ off, luv, and I guess it has. So, does that mean you want me to hang around till you get on the bus?"

She studied him, eyeing him from head to toe. Once her gaze met his, she seemed to relax a little, almost as if she caught a glimpse of something that helped her decide to let him stay.

"I guess that's fine, but just keep standing over there. You're still making my creepo detector go haywire."

They stood in awkward silence, Spike leaning against the building he'd once relied on for cover, as she stood near the weathered bus bench, still clutching her pepper spray. Fortunately, she had moved her finger from the trigger.

Spike didn't even know if he should try to talk to her or take the hint and get lost. After several moments, Spike's mind started churning. He always had to be on the move; whether it was his body or his mind, something was in constant motion. Before he really thought it through, his mouth was moving.

"M's Spike, ah, in case you were wonderin'."

She stilled kept her eyes on bus watch, but after several beats she responded loud enough so he could clearly hear her.

"Spike? Like the bulldog from Looney Toons?" Her voice held a hint of humor, and he noticed a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah, somethin' like that."

Spike chuckled weakly before contemplating whether he should continue speaking or not. This only lasted a moment before his mouth decided and took over.

"If you don't mind my asking, and may I add m' colored all sorts of impressed, but how is it you know California stalking law almost verbatim?"

Her eyes, which he knew the entire time, had kept him within sight, shifted from the quiet streets back to him. She looked as though she was debating whether or not to respond. It almost looked like there were two people having a full discussion in her mind, and a shrug of her shoulders preceded her announcing their decision.

"Stalker ex-boyfriend, you?"

Spike was taken back at how casual her voice and mannerism belied the type of personal and sensitive information she'd just given him. Even though he knew this wasn't the green light to come any closer, he felt that if she was willing to tell him something like this, at least she didn't think he was some lunatic. Well, he _hoped._ Or, he could be completely wrong. Maybe, she was telling him she pegged him in the same category as her wanker ex, and she was letting him know that. Spike hoped it was the former and mirrored her casualness with a shrug of his own.

"Insomniac who likes to read."

"Ah…"

Just as quickly as it started, their conversation ended. During the next awkward pause, each of them started shifting and fidgeting. Needing to keep busy, Spike patted his pockets down until he found what he was looking for. He pulled the crumpled pack from his pocket and brought it to his mouth. His teeth skillfully gripped a cigarette. After replacing the pack back into his pocket, he pulled out his beloved Zippo and ignited the flame. All the while her gaze ping-ponged between the street and her watch.

All her checking seemed to pay off as the bus rounded the corner and headed toward them. Spike snubbed his partially spent cigarette under his boot and took a tentative step forward. The bus stopped several feet away, and with a hiss, the door opened.

She climbed two steps and stopped. Turning slightly, she glanced his way and said softly, "Maybe I'll see you around." Then almost dramatically, the door closed behind her. Spike watched as she took a seat on the other side of the bus, before it pulled away from the sidewalk and headed down the street.

After watching the bus disappear around the corner, Spike headed home. He felt he made a little progress with trying to get to know Anne. He had hopes maybe sometime soon he'd have enough courage to ask her out on a real date, one of the non-stalking variety.

The next night, Spike entered the diner and was greeted with Anne's soft smile. That night instead of him taking to the shadows and following her to the bus stop, she was well aware when he exited the diner behind her. She also appeared fine with him walking with her. Spike maintained a distance of several feet due to her uneasiness the night before. After a few moments, they started talking. Gratefully, it felt less awkward, and the conversation flowed fairly smoothly.

For the next two weeks, Spike continued walking her to the bus stop. Each night, with her silent permission, he moved a little closer. By the end of the two weeks, they were standing side by side, their shoulders occasionally brushing against one another.

To add to the small sparks that each brush of her body against him left, she had really opened up to him. She told him that her name was Buffy and not Anne and fully explained why she used her middle name.

At first when she spoke, she appeared apprehensive. He sensed she seemed almost worried that he would've been angry with her for not being honest. However, when Spike told her he understood completely, and that he felt names were merely labels and they didn't truly define who you were, she appeared almost relieved.

She'd then asked what _his_ real name was; he had no hesitation in telling her—Will. After she experimentally said his name several times, she gave him a beautiful and genuine smile that completely melted his heart.

When the bus stopped several feet away, without warning, Buffy placed the sweetest, chaste kiss upon his cheek before she climbed the stairs. She quickly took the window seat closest to him as he stood on the curb. When she sat, their gazes locked and remained so for as long as they could. Spike stood and watched until the bus was no longer in sight.

He knew right then and there, she was _the one_. He would do everything in his power to be with this woman. Fortunately, for him, she felt the same. After that night, they were inseparable, and they stayed that way until that devastating night several years later.

Author's Notes:

Big thanks to my betas: Sanityfair and Diebirchen

Camp in this case means exaggerated effeminate mannerisms

If you're interested, California Stalking Laws are found here: .


	10. Chapter 10: Uncertainity

_"The only reason we don't open our hearts and minds to other people is that they trigger confusion in us that we don't feel brave enough or sane enough to deal with. To the degree that we look clearly and compassionately at ourselves, we feel confident and fearless about looking into someone else's eyes."_

Pema Chodron

Buffy's eyes fluttered opened as she stretched lazily. While fully extending her arms and legs, she savored the popping of slightly stiffened joints and the gentle stretching of her once idle muscles. When her eyes finally came into focus, she noticed something didn't seem quite right.

_This isn't my room._

Quickly, she sat up. The sudden movement caused her head to spin slightly. Once she got her bearings back, her gaze made several sweeps around the room. After recognition set in, her tense body began to relax as she gradually leaned back against the headboard.

_I'm at Will's house._

Buffy mulled over how she really felt about this. Of course she was grateful for his hospitality, especially after she had him sign—

_So not going there._

However, despite his kindness, the fact remained—she really didn't want to be there. It wasn't that Will was being a stereotypical ex-husband: acting like a first-class ass by laughing at her for getting her car stuck in the snow or telling her she couldn't sleep in his house, which would've ultimately made her have to stay in her freezing car overnight. Nor did he try to coax or guilt-trip her into having one-more-for-ol'-time-sake sex.

No, all of those things would've made it easier for her not wanting to be there.

_Well, not the sex, actually—Yeah…next thought._

However, Will was never one for following status quo. He always did things differently.

_That's one of the things I lov—Again, so not going there._

Now she was faced with a huge problem: How should she act toward him?

She could be pleasant, wearing a perma-grin and whistling some jaunty tune as she headed downstairs. However, after running this scenario through her mind, Buffy realized a big flaw. Wouldn't her acting like this make it seem as if she was happy about what happened last night, and in turn be a big proverbial slap to his face?

_Yeah, ditch that plan._

Well, on the other hand, she could be a royal bitch. She could be snappy and short with him, not sparing him a second glance while she demanded him to dig out her car so she could get the hell out of there. She didn't even have to think about that one. Choosing that course of action was a big, emphatic no.

When she acted like that toward him, it didn't get her anything but one of his notorious death-glares and a string of British slurs. Well, except the times when he became turned on by her Queen Bitch of Bitchdonia side. Especially that one time—

_Where was I? Oh yeah, that plan would only lead to badness!_

Buffy sighed deeply while running her hand through her hair. Despite her being asleep for over six hours, sheer exhaustion started weighing on her heavily once again. This time it wasn't her body but her mind that needed reprieve.

Since last night, countless conflicting feelings were warring inside her. And the more she tried rationalizing and understanding them, the more confused she became.

All she knew was this: she needed to dig her car out of the snow. Well, first things first, she needed to get out of bed. Maybe, by the time she freshened up, she would have a clear idea on how she would approach him. Or so she hoped.

Buffy, knowing full-well heading out of this room in just his tee shirt and undies was definitely not a good idea, slid on her jeans and headed to the bathroom.

After she'd washed her face, brushed her hair and teeth, and "borrowed" some of Will's deodorant, she'd grabbed a set of fresh sheets before heading back to the guest room.

Once in the room, she quickly made the bed and straightened up. There was only one more thing she had to do before heading downstairs—get changed. In itself, this wasn't the issue. Well, not until she had to take off Will's shirt.

Buffy gradually lifted the faded cotton to her nose and inhaled deeply. Regardless of the slight hint of vanilla that still clung to the shirt, clearly from her, it mainly smelled of _him_. His unique scent permeating the fabric filled her nose and instantly brought forward the one feeling she'd been fighting desperately against—lust.

Last night his essence had lulled her to sleep. Now, she felt her body humming with anticipation and excitement. Each nerve felt on edge, as if a single touch from him would have her loosing what little self-control she had left.

Buffy, knowing this wouldn't lead anywhere good, gave her inner lust-bunny a mental bitch-slap before throwing the shirt onto the pile of dirty sheets on the floor.

Before she'd changed her mind, with a quick flip of the top sheet, she'd covered the temptation. With her gaze everywhere except the linens at her feet, she finished getting dressed before snatching the offending pile off the floor and headed to the hamper in the bathroom.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she threw open the lid and stuffed the wad of linens in. She stared at the pile for several moments while lost in thought. She now figured out the best way to approach Will—as a friend.

_After all, isn't this how we started off our relationship?_

As a friend, she would be gracious to him for his hospitality but not overly so. There will be no hugging or touching of any kind. Plus, there will be no more ogling. Furthermore, she would talk to him, but there would be no flirting or words that he could misconstrue.

In being his friend, especially with all of these conflicting feelings, it would be a fine line to walk, but if she held the same certainty she did on the ride up, she could do it.

_Okay, I'll just dig out my car and then leave. Easy-peasy._

With a nod of achievement at finally making a decision, she closed the lid and headed downstairs. When she reached the living room, Buffy looked around and after noticing Will wasn't there, released a soft sigh of relief.

_This might be easier than I thought. He's probably still sleeping. I'll dig out my car, and if he's still sleeping when I'm done, I'll just write a note telling him thanks for letting me stay._

Buffy continued heading toward the rack that held her jacket even though the faint, heavenly scent of coffee that filled the air tried enticing her to pour herself a big mug full of much needed liquid energy.

While she was sliding on her leather, Will came in from outside. At first, he didn't notice her as he began pulling off his clearly wet gloves and jacket.

When Will noticed Buffy watching him, he stopped briefly removing his jacket as a soft smile claimed his lips.

"Hey, good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Buffy knew by the rosy tint of Will's normally pale cheeks and nose and the amount of snow covering his boots, he had been outside for some time, most likely digging out her car.

Initially, it was flattering that he had done this for her. However, for some unexplainable reason her mind started questioning why he would do this. Soon she came up with a reason. He was obviously trying to get her outta here—ASAP. Now, _that_ pissed her off.

"Did you shovel out my car?"

Buffy's question stilled Will's hand on the laces of his boot. Even being bent over, he immediately noticed her slight irritation.

"Yeah, woke up early and decided to get a jump start on the day."

Will finished unlacing one boot before working on the other. While his head remained lowered, he hoped he was mistaken about her irritability. Also, he prayed she hadn't noticed the dark circles under his eyes. This raccoon-look was a tell tale sign he didn't get any sleep at all last night and that was a discussion he wasn't prepared to have.

Once done, Will stood and starting heel-toeing off his boots. He noticed Buffy's normally full lips were set in thin line. It looked like she wanted to say something but decided against it. She eyed him briefly, and after an unlady-like snort, she started stuffing her feet, almost angrily, into her boots.

Will watched her in confusion. _How did I piss her off already? Or maybe she's just still cross about last night. Even though I didn't do anythin' then either. Well, if you count her eyeing my arse and dangly bits, but that's a good thing, isn't it?_

While Will continued contemplating why she was angry, Buffy stomped over to her purse and snatched it off the counter. While she fished out her keys from the bag, he broke from his thoughts and shifted slightly in her path, causing her to stop abruptly.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No, I'm just trying to get a _jump start_ on the day!"

Buffy's thick, sarcastic tone triggered Will's brow to furrow in utter confusion. He didn't know why she was so upset, but he intended to find out.

"You're not pissed 'cause I cleared out your car are you?"

"No, I'm not mad at all, Will. I'm actually grateful, don't I look it?" Buffy stopped fiddling inside her bag long enough to look at him. She had an unmistakable sardonic, wide-toothed smile plastered on her face.

"No, actually you look a little nutter, but—"

Buffy's eyes widened at his remark before she scoffed and tried pushing past him to get to the door. Instinctually, Will grabbed her upper arm to stop her. She whipped around and her narrowed eyes landed on his offending hand before it rose to his face. Will, reacting to her, immediately removed his hand and raised both hands up in mock surrender.

Will was at a lost as to why she was acting this way. All he knew was that he didn't want her to leave. Especially not like this.

"Buffy, you're clearly angry. Let's talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about! You've made yourself perfectly clear that you want me to leave, so that's what I'm going to do. All you need to do is move out of my way so I can!" Buffy tried to pass him once more, but Will shifted further, continuing to block her way.

"I never said I wanted you to leave. You're the one who was hell bent last night to get outta here. I thought this is what _you_ wanted."

Will's voice started rising with irritation. He didn't want to fight with her, but he also wasn't going to let her pin blame on him for something that wasn't true.

"I do want to go. It's just—you don't have to be all happy about it!"

"What? Are you completely daft? How does clearin' out your car say 'm happy 'bout you leavin'?"

"Of course it says you want me to go! If you didn't, you would've left the snow so I would have to stay longer to get my car out!"

Buffy knew she sounded irrational, but at this point she knew she was _way_ past rational, since her feelings were now in control of her mouth.

Will snorted following her response. He didn't know what had gotten into her, but he sure as hell knew it was far more than she was saying, and clearly he was fighting a losing battle. Yet, he still wouldn't back down.

"Right, so then you could think I was a bastard when I sat in here all cozy-like while you were diggin' out your car? Yeah, no thanks."

"Well, it doesn't matter what I would've thought, it's done now. So, I'll just be going."

With that, Buffy successfully bypassed him and headed toward the door. She opened the door slightly before Will's hand shot out, forcing the door to slam shut. Buffy turned and glared at him. Despite her obvious anger and determination for him to move, Will stared back with equal resolve to not back-down.

"Now that's just plain rude, Buffy. Fine, you don't want to talk about what's got your knickers all in a twist, but at least you could thank me for fixing your problem."

Despite his leveled tone, Buffy could tell Will was definitely irritated, which in turned fueled her determination to leave even more. Grabbing the doorknob, Buffy tried pulling the door open once more. It only opened part way, before he slammed it closed again.

"Stop it!" Buffy snapped as she tried the door again, but Will's hand kept it from budging.

"Make me." Will's challenge held a measure of taunting, since he knew full well she couldn't leave through the door while he held it in place.

Buffy whirled around and started quickly heading toward the front door. Will followed her, and before she could reach her destination, he grabbed her upper arm and turned her to face him. He noticed her wide, exasperated eyes and flushed cheeks before she shook his hand off.

"Fine, thank you! Thank you for getting me outta here faster! Is that good enough? Can I go now…please?"

When she first started speaking, Will noticed how strong and sure her voice sounded. However, the more she spoke, the softer it became, until her last word was a mere whisper. Despite only moments earlier she appeared ready to tear him a new one, she now just looked drained and defeated.

Will shook his head as he released her arm and lowered his hand to his side. He wanted to offer her comfort. He knew despite the brave face she tried to put forward, she was having a difficult time. But so was he. He couldn't offer her something he couldn't give himself. However, he still wanted to try.

"Buffy, what is this truly all about?"

Buffy lowered her eyes, trying to get away from his piercing stare. She knew he saw right through her. He always did. Her gaze remained fixed on a suddenly interesting spot on the floor.

"Will, why are you being so nice to me? After, well, after last night, why don't you hate me?"

Following her last word, Buffy's gaze, with a glimmer of tears balancing on her lower lids, rose to meet his.

Even though he shouldn't, Will reached forward and tenderly cupped her cheek as his gaze remaining locked with hers.

"Buffy, I don't hate you. It hurts, 'm not goin' to lie about that, but I could never hate you. And as for me bein' nice to you, well, that goes with the whole not hatin' you thing."

Several tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked, before she let out a soft sigh.

"If I were you, I would hate me."

Will couldn't help but smile softly while his thumb tenderly brushed away a stray tear.

"Well, you're not, and I won't. I can't. Buffy, I lov—"

Before he could finish his words, Buffy pulled from his touch and stepped back. Despite seeing the hurt flashing across his features from breaking away, she knew she needed to stop this now.

"See, this is the problem! You're acting all nice and trying to make me feel better, when you should be saying, "Bloody woman, get the hell outta my house!" It doesn't make any sense!"

"So, instead of bein' nice, you rather I yell at you in a really bad accent as I kick you out?" Will's scarred brow rose as his voice held a hint of teasing. This conversation was getting weirder and more confusing by the moment.

"Yes! Exactly! That's what exes do. They fight, and they're mean to one another, and they kick each other out!" Buffy explained as her arms flailed around trying to emphasize her point.

Will tried to follow her logic, yet before he could question it, realization set in. His eyes widened with understanding before he started pacing, his fury fueling his strides.

"Oh, now 'm gettin'it. May 'ave been slow to catch on, but I now see what your doin'. If 'm bein' a first class arse, it would make it easier for you to skedaddle—"Will stopped mid-sentence, his gaze boring down on her. "Is that the game, Buffy?"

"No, Will, there's no game, I—"

Before she could finish responding, Will stepped closer until she could feel his hot breath on her face.

"Get…Out."

His deep, icy tone caused shivers to erupt all over her body and her stomach dropped. Will stepped away from her, turned and headed toward the stairs.

"Will, I'm—"

Despite what he had said, he was ultimately right. She was trying to make this easier on herself. She had not done so deliberately, nor was she trying to hurt him, but she'd done both nonetheless.

However, she knew this wasn't what she wanted, especially to hurt him, and she couldn't let him believe that it was. During her attempt to explain, Will stopped walking and spun around to face her.

"Get…Out…NOW!

She jumped slightly from his raised, rage-filled voice echoing throughout the room. Buffy noticed his clenched jaw, fisted hands, and heaving chest. She could tell he was barely holding on to his temper. Even though she wanted to explain herself and apologize, she knew, at the very least, she needed to respect his wishes. Without another word, she turned and quickly headed out the front door.

With the sound of the door closing, Will released his rigid stance with a heavy sigh. He couldn't believe how quickly everything went pear-shaped. Will took several weary steps toward the couch and awkwardly dropped himself down onto the cushions.

Will's head was buzzing with sounds, in spite of how eerily quiet the room truly was. Soon his mind shifted from his noisy thoughts to what was happening around him, or more so the lack there of something happening.

Buffy had yet to leave. He heard her car door slam, but after that, nothing. With curiosity getting the better of him, he stood and headed toward the window.

He noticed Buffy sitting in the car. Even with the distance and the closed window he knew exactly what she was saying—or more so yelling. He could tell by the rapid pace of her mouth and how her hands continually slammed against the steering wheel she was totally pissed.

The whole scene would have been comical if not for his already sour and dejected mood. After watching for several minutes and against his better judgment, Will slid on his jacket and boots and headed outside.

Thanks Sanityfair and Diebirchen


	11. Chapter 11: Stubborness

_"A stubborn mind conduces as little to wisdom or even to knowledge, as a stubborn temper to happiness."_

Robert Southey

Will slowly approached Buffy's car, as she continued to rant and rave. He stood unnoticed for several moments before he tapped on the driver's side window, startling her.

She looked to her left with wide eyes. When her gaze met his, a hint of embarrassment flashed across her features from not noticing his approach and for his having witnessed her clearly foolish behavior.

Following a slight shake of her head, Buffy made a shooing motion with her hand, silently instructing Will to step back in order to give her enough room to swing the door open.

"The car won't start."

Will's brow furrowed slightly, since he didn't expect this was the reason behind her tantrum.

"What do you mean it won't start?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean it won't start? It won't start!" Buffy's words dripped with sarcasm, which in turn fueled Will's brusque instruction.

"Try it again."

Buffy sighed loudly, before turning the key. Just as it had before, the car didn't turn over nor make any sound at all. With a look of, "I told you so." she glared defiantly at him.

Will stepped forward, his patience all but gone as he held his palm out silently demanding that she hand over the keys.

"Just get out. Let me 'ave a crack at it!"

His behavior, especially with the accompanying attitude, instantly caused Buffy's ire to rise tenfold.

"What, you think I don't know how to turn a key? The car won't start. That's that!"

Without a word, Will continued holding out his hand. Buffy yanked them from the ignition and slapped them into his gloved palm. She slid out of the driver's seat and stood off to the side, allowing him room to enter.

After adjusting the seat for more legroom, Will placed the key into the ignition and turned—nothing. With a growl of frustration sounding from the back of his throat, he tried again. Same result.

"It's not starting," Will muttered, his eyes remaining forward not wanting to look at smug expression he knew would be on his ex-wife's face.

"You don't say." Buffy's face did, indeed, hold the smug expression Will believed it would, and her condescending tone just added an air of self-righteousness.

Will moved his eyes to hers, instantly releasing an annoyed sigh. He hated that look. She would give him _the look_ when she thought she was right and brilliant, and he was wrong and dumber than a box of rocks.

"Yes, oh high and mighty-one! You're right, like always, huh? Well, if you could take a moment to come down from your high horse, you can hear what we lowly creatures have to say."

"By all means, peon, speak." With a wave of her hand, Buffy suppressed a smirk while urging him to continue.

"Oh, thank you, mistress, you are _too_ kind. Anyway, I think the battery is dead."

"What do you mean the battery's dead?"

"Huh? What do I mean, what do I mean the battery is dead? It's dead, deceased, expired, ran down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible … Need I go on?" Will ground out, agitation now replacing his earlier playful sarcasm.

"Thank you, . I do understand what dead means. I just don't understand why. I drove all the way up here from LA and didn't have any problems at all."

"None at all?" With a shake of her head, he continued, "Well, did you leave the driving beams on all night? That would drain the battery."

"No, Will, I didn't leave the lights on. I'm not a complete idiot. And before you say one word to the contrary, I'd think twice if I were you."

The threatening tone of her voice prompted Will to pretend he locked his mouth with an imaginary key, and adding to the show of not saying a word, he tossed it over his shoulder. Will pondered this for a few moments before coming up with an idea.

"Buffy, do you have jumper cables in the trunk? I can give you a jump, and after leaving the car idling for twenty minutes or so, you can be on your merry way."

Will's gaze moved from hers to the steering wheel after saying, "give you a jump." Despite his earlier agitation, his mind went directly to _jumping_ of a completely different kind. The kind requiring a different type of cable, just like the one ready for action and steadily growing in his now snug denims.

Either completely missing the way his eyes glazed over after his sexual insinuation or the reaction his suggestion had caused to the lower half of his anatomy, Buffy nodded and without a word, turned and headed toward the trunk.

Once she moved, Will slid from the driver's seat and exited the car. As he followed her, his gaze remained fixed on the beautiful view of her backside. Will shifted his hips, slightly adjusting his erection away from the biting zipper of his jeans before stopping in front of the trunk.

Will's thoughts remained on Buffy's pretty posterior and completely missed the conversation she was trying to have with him. He found himself in a daze, hearing the sound of her voice, but not understanding a word she said, before giving himself a mental dope slap, as he tried clearing away all the nasty thoughts swirling around in his mind.

"Uh?"

"Um, I think I left the trunk open." Buffy's words rushed from her mouth so quickly, they sounded like a single incoherent word instead of several hurried, muttered ones.

"Care to say that a bit slower. Ya know, for those that don't speak gibberish?"

"I said…I—think—I—left—the—trunk—open!" Her words now sounded as if she was were speaking to a simpleton and a deaf one at that, since her voice raised once more in volume.

"No need to get shirty, I was just asking for clarification is all. And what do you mean you think? You either did or didn't. It's as simple as that!"

Will waved his hand toward the trunk, while he squared his shoulders and faced her. Renewed agitation quickly replaced the lust once clouding his mind. It angered him that she was clearly refusing to admit she'd possibly made a mistake, and in fact, it sounded as though she was blaming him for all of this.

"Fine, fine, I know I left the trunk open! I went in there last night, so I could get my gloves and hat. When I closed it, snow must've gotten caught in the latch, not allowing it to close properly. Believe me, I didn't do it on purpose. I don't want to be here in the first place, never mind extending this hellish visit!" Buffy echoed his tone when she turned from the trunk to face him.

The pair stared at one another for several beats, neither saying all the thoughts—especially the more colorful and down right rude ones— running through their minds. Buffy finally relented after sensing that Will wouldn't back down. Especially with how angry he looked right now and how it really was _her_ fault. She closed her eyes briefly before taking a deep breath preparing to speak.

"Look, it's not your fault the car battery is dead. We can fight about this until all the snow around us melts and spring comes, but it won't change anything. All you need to do is jump me, then I can leave."

Will looked at Buffy in utter confusion. The first thought he had, _Who are you, and what have you done with my wife—well, ex-wife?_ Before he let his tongue get a hold of this thought and release it, he tucked it away and decided that he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, especially since this was the third apology from her in less than 24 hours.

Quickly, on the heels of his first thought came the second—_She wants me to jump her!_ A teenager boy's excited chuckle echoed in his head, causing his slightly deflated erection to spring to life once more. Will began conjuring up all the ways he wanted to fulfill her request, and not in the way she was asking—well, at least not yet.

"…jumper cables?"

After hearing the tail end of an obviously one-sided conversation, Will blinked quickly trying to chase away all the erotic images for the second time in the last twenty minutes. He looked at Buffy, who appeared extremely pissed off: with her hands on her hips and fire blazing in her green eyes. Unfortunately for him, all he could manage was a monosyllabic response, "Uh?"

"Earth to Will…are you listening to me? Sometimes I swear when I talk to you, it's like I'm talking to a wall or something. I talk and talk, thinking I'm having a conversation with you, then I look over and see that stupid look on your face, and I just know you haven't heard a word I said! It really pisses me off, you know? Well, since I have your attention now, I don't have any jumper cables in my trunk. Do you have any?"

"No."

"Care to elaborate? No, you don't have any jumper cables, or no, you're not listening to me?"

"Actually…both."

"Gee, thanks ever so much for that clarification."

"Your welcome about the not listening to you part. But the part about the cables— I'm actually sorry about that. I loaned them to an elderly couple down the road last week when his ol' Dodge pickup truck wouldn't start."

"Can't we just take your truck to his house and get them back?"

"No, unlike you, he and the missus went to spread holiday cheer with his family down in San Diego. And before you ask about getting another battery, due to the sleet last night, the roads goin' down to Running Springs are closed until they can get them properly sanded. Looks like your stuck here until at least tomorrow."

Buffy's eyes started to widen with each word. Each word confirmed she was, as he'd said, really stuck there. Without responding, Buffy pulled a blanket from the trunk before slamming it shut. Still silent, she walked past him and headed toward the driver's side door. She opened it and slid into the seat before firmly closing the door behind her.

Buffy shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable before covering herself with the blanket. She tucked it up under her chin and held it there with her hands, prior to lowering her head to the headrest and closing her eyes.

Will knew this behavior all too well. This was Buffy deciding that she'd "had enough." When she hit this point, only one thing followed—closing out the world. Will shook his head at how hard-headed she could be sometimes. He knew full-well she'd rather freeze rather than to go back into the house, and it was pointless to try reasoning with her.

He turned from the car and walked back toward the house. Will carefully climbed the snowy stairs, entered the house, and without a second glance, he closed the door behind him, leaving a cold, stubborn Buffy behind.

After removing his boots and jacket, he headed over toward the roaring fire to get warm. While his body soaked in the heat, he looked at the clock on the mantle, 10 am. Despite how angry and determined she was, he knew it was only a matter of time before the cold would make her give in.

Once sufficiently warmed, Will entered the kitchen and put the kettle on. While the water heated, he set out a mug for each of them. He knew it wouldn't be long now. She'd been out there for twenty minutes, and knowing her like he did, even though she had a stubborn streak a mile wide, her hatred of the cold was far stronger than her annoyance. Even her stubbornness was no match for Old Man Winter.

When the kettle whistled, Will glanced at the clock. Another ten minutes had passed. He had to give her credit for holding out. He noticed the wind had started kicking up about fifteen minutes before, and with no heat in her car, that poor excuse for a blanket and her coat weren't enough to keep out that type of cold.

Will was removing the whistling kettle from the stove as he heard the front door opening. He noticed her shaking, almost violently, as she pulled off her jacket and boots. Will didn't acknowledge her presence as he concentrated on his task.

With both mugs in hand, he walked over to where she now stood before the fire. Buffy's gaze moved from the flames and landed on him. Without a word, he handed her a mug and headed toward and then up the stairs.

Buffy continued to watch him, until he disappeared from sight. Once she heard a door upstairs closing, her gaze returned to the dancing flames in the hearth before slowly sipping from the mug cradled in her hands.

She was grateful Will didn't say anything to her about her stubbornness and ultimately her having given in to the cold. Surprisingly, Buffy was even more grateful for his remembering exactly how she liked her hot chocolate, little marshmallows and all.

Author's Note:

Thanks Sanityfair and Diebirchen

"Ran down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile," is a Monty Python quote from the _Dead Parrot_ sketch. Thanks to Marilyn for giving this to me!


	12. Chapter 12: His Muse

_"It is ever the invisible that is the object of our profoundest worship. With the lover it is not the seen but the unseen that he muses upon."_

Christian Nevell Bovee

Will had been staring at the blinking cursor on his computer screen for what felt like hours. After he'd handed Buffy her hot chocolate, he'd gone to his study. He'd been there since.

He had a deadline to meet. Well, actually he'd had several deadlines to meet. However, each deadline came and went with no work to show for it. His agent had been on his arse to give her an outline for his new book. However, despite all her demands, they'd never inspired the words to appear on the screen. On the contrary, her constant harping only made Will's muse even more elusive, which in turn pissed him off all the more, and made writing that much harder.

It used to be so easy back when he and Buffy rented a squalid two-room apartment and lived on meager rations of boxes of mac and cheese and hot dogs. Back when they barely had a pot to piss in, never mind a window to throw it out of. This was when, regardless of everything they had to go without, their love and passion always remained strong.

During this time, words just randomly came to him. He could be taking a shower, washing dishes, or anything else equally mundane, and they flooded his mind. That's how his first book came to him. Before that, he'd never considered himself a writer. Yeah, he wrote lyrics and the occasional poem, but those never consisted of anything longer than a paragraph or two or lasted over four minutes when accompanied by music.

So initially, when the words started rambling through his mind that night, he thought after he'd written them down, his muse would be done with him. However, despite what he thought, it seemed this time his muse had other plans. She kept him on the same task for six months straight. When he wasn't working, his hand was scribbling away furiously on anything lying around that could be written on.

Will cursed the taunting, pulsating marker once more before standing and heading toward the window. He released the lock and lifted it up several inches. The cold air rushed in and brushed against the exposed skin of his forearms, instantly causing the hairs there to rise.

He dropped himself into his favorite battered recliner facing the window and slid his hand between the worn cushion and the arm of the chair, pulling out a hidden pack of cigarettes.

It had been years earlier when he'd promised Buffy he would quit. Even though they haven't been living together for almost a year he, out of habit, still hid packs around the house. He knew Buffy knew he was still smoking, but since he was trying to quit and didn't smoke as much as he had in the past, she seemed to overlook the occasional fag here and there.

Placing a slightly bent cancer-stick between his lips, he pulled his Zippo from the front pocket of his denims, flicked the flame on, and placed it to the end of the cigarette. Then he took in a deep drag. The smoke burned his throat and lungs, but the rush of the nicotine made it all worthwhile. He released a steady stream of smoke through his nostrils and watched the hazy cloud disperse in the air while his mind wandered.

_Six years ago_

"Why are you resemblin' a chicken with its head cut off, luv? It's only a Halloween party. You're not meetin' the bloody Queen of England."

Despite his teasing words, Will's lustful and intense gaze remained on his wife as she rushed around their combo bedroom/living room.

She didn't spare him a glance as she placed the finishing touches to her make-up. With a final stroke of the mascara wand, she turned and headed toward the closet to retrieve the shoes she'd decided on for the evening. Using the wall for balance after sliding one three-inch, black stiletto on, she slid her foot into the other.

Once finished, she had noticed Will still hadn't moved an inch from where he'd originally lain down after his shower. Buffy heaved a heavy sigh and turned toward him.

She noticed his gaze instantly zeroed in on her corset-covered chest or more specifically to the swell of her breast spilling over the top of said corset. Buffy cleared her throat loudly in order to get his attention. Will ogled for several more moments before breaking his stare. Finally, his gaze rose to meet hers.

"Will, it's not just a Halloween party. It's opening night at Faith's bar. She's been working double shifts at the diner for years now trying to save up enough money for this place, and I wanted us to be the first people there."

"It's in a shady part of LA, luv. I bet the cops will be the first people there."

"Ha, ha, very funny. Now, Mr. Comedian, get up and get dressed." Buffy turned back to the mirror and began braiding her left pigtail with agile fingers.

"You know I hate all this dress up stuff. Well, let me reiterate: I hate this dress up stuff for Halloween. When you dress up like a Catholic schoolgirl or a naughty nurse, it is far from my idea of hating. Speaking of which, if I may say, this outfit you're wearin' may be my new favorite."

Will's gaze raked over Buffy's backside. His eyes lingered on the tiny skirt barely covering the swell of her ass and patiently waited for her to move just right to flash him one pert cheek.

After she finished the second braid, she turned from the mirror. The small skirt of her Little Red Riding Hood costume began swishing side to side from her movement.

"What do you mean? You're not even dressing up! You're wearing what you always do!" Buffy motioned to the pile of clothes, of a black cotton tee shirt and jeans, lying at the foot of the bed.

"Oi,'m dressing up!"

"Will, wearing plastic fangs is not dressing up."

"It's more than I've ever worn on this soddin' night, isn't it?"

Buffy, knowing that this was true, relented. He did buy a pair of vampire fangs in order to appease her. She had to give him credit where credit was due. As she spoke, now with a softened tone, she eyed his lounging form.

"So tell me, what are you going as anyway?""

"'m the Big Bad. You can't be Little Red without the Big Bad."

"If I remember correctly it was a wolf, not Billy Idol with plastic fangs, who was the baddie in that fairytale."

Buffy always teased him about stealing his look from Billy Idol. When she did this, he feigned being hurt and in turn brought out the big guns—the pout. In typical fashion, after eyeing his protruding bottom lip, she'd instantly felt compelled to make amends—with a kiss.

After several moments in a heated lip-lock, Buffy knew if she didn't end their kiss now they would never get to the party. She pulled away slightly, breaking their kiss while trying to extract herself from his arms, which he'd looped around her legs.

Unfortunately, he had other plans. He held onto her tightly as he'd raised himself into a kneeling position. Once he repositioned his arms around her waist, he began peppering kisses and small nips along the column of her throat, causing her thoughts of pulling away to waver.

"Mmm…My, my what a lovely cock I have, all the better to shag you with, my dear." Will's voice, resembling a purr, sounded in her ear triggering her to shudder with pleasure.

Buffy felt her resolve slipping away. While his talented mouth teased her sensitive flesh, the towel once wrapped around his waist fell away, and his "lovely cock" brushed against her bare upper thighs. She was almost done for. Will always had a way to make her putty in his hands and turn her brain to complete mush.

Her sexual haze lifted slightly when she felt his deft fingers searching and grabbing the zipper of her costume. She took this opportunity to slip from his arms.

Buffy quickly backed away several steps and watched Will's heated gaze following her, like a lion tracking its prey. He grinned mischievously and wagged his eyebrows as he sat back and unfurled his bent legs. He placed his feet on the floor and with a feline grace, stood and slowly began stalking toward her.

"No use, Little Red, this Big Bad is goin' to eat… you… all…up."

She knew by the look in his eyes, she was going to get it and good. That in itself was not the problem. The problem was this type of _good_ usually ended up with torn clothing and, one time, broken furniture.

Buffy put up her hands, trying to stop his pursuit—at least momentarily. She spoke quickly knowing she only had a small window of time before he pounced on her. Once that happened, she knew all thoughts and logic were going to go bye-bye.

"Um, before the Big Bad, um, eats me, there have to be some ground rules."

Despite how passionate and at times down right kinky they were, she still blushed when talking dirty to him. He always found this absolutely adorable. Curiosity at hearing her words stopped his advancement long enough to question what she meant.

"What type of ground rules?"

"One, there will be no tearing of clothing of any kind. This is a renter and I have to return it in one piece."

"Right, I won't tear into my present like a kid on Christmas day. Gotcha, and the others?" After a thoughtful pause, she shrugged her shoulders.

"I think that's it, just the one ru—"

Will, seeing her shrugging as a green light, rushed forward and quickly pulled her into his embrace. He silenced the remainder of her words with a passionate kiss.

He had kept true to his word. The costume remained intact. However, she couldn't say the same about the thong that he'd found under her frilly bloomers.

Unfortunately, the promise Buffy had given to Faith, for them being the first people at the grand opening of her bar, was not.

It was that night when his muse _really_ gripped his mind, as he sat at the bar nursing his beer. She'd started earlier in the evening with random whispering of such words as temptress and majestic, while Buffy sat astride his lap. Her braids bouncing in time with her steady rise and fall as she rode him in utter perfection.

Now, as he watched Buffy's hips swaying in time with the blaring music courtesy of Faith's band, Five by Five, the muse's words were loud and clear. Compelling him to act. Unable to ignore her words any longer, Will caught the bartender's attention and asked him for a pile of napkins and a pen.

Once he had them, he began scribbling away. For most of the night, this filled his time. However, in spite of the muse's tight hold on him, there were times during the night he'd ignored her, as he'd let Buffy lure him out onto the dance floor.

He loved how their bodies fit together perfectly. It didn't matter what type of dance, they always instinctually found a rhythm that made them move as one.

By the end of the night, his hand was cramping and stained with ink. When the house lights came up, Will compiled over fifty napkins full of notes and started shoving them into his pockets while Faith's brash announcement, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!" echoed throughout the bar.

After Will and Buffy said their goodbyes to Faith and their other friends still hanging around for an after-after-hours party, the pair caught a cab and headed home.

As the cab pulled from the curb, Buffy's mouth was on his as she boldly straddled his lap. Will, conscious of the prying eyes of the driver, pulled the sides of his leather up and surrounded the precious bundle grinding against him.

Ten minutes later, the cab stopped abruptly, before a gruff voice announced they were at their apartment. Giving Buffy a moment to shift her corset back into place, Will lowered his coat and moved in order to give her enough room to get out of the cab. Noticing the driver's wandering eyes to his wife's assets, he shoved the wad of cash in his line of vision before sliding out and slamming the door behind him.

His foul mood from the bastard eyeing his wife quickly dissipated once he caught sight of her hips swaying seductively as she walked toward their building's front door.

They were barely inside their apartment, when they were on each other once more. This time, he wasn't able to keep his promise. Gratefully, the rip was small and an easy fix.

After an hour of mind-bending kisses and caresses, he entered her with a tedious slowness that triggered her orgasm instantly. His pace was unhurried and deep, and with her third climax, he joined her over the edge of bliss.

In the early morning light, he'd awakened with her head pillowed on his chest and her soft snores greeting him. He placed a chaste kiss to her crown, before reluctantly pulling himself from her embrace. A small frown creased her brow, but following a soft kiss to her forehead and his whispered, "Love you," it disappeared.

Before walking toward the kitchen area, Will pulled on his favorite flannels and headed to where his duster lay. He pulled out the pile of napkins out of his pocket and began sorting through them. With his eyes still fixed on the words, he pulled out the stool at the breakfast bar and plopped himself down. Slowly, he began spreading the bits of paper on the countertop, trying to make sense of them. This is where Buffy found him several hours later after she'd woken up alone.

For the next six months, the breakfast bar was where she would find him. It didn't matter what time of day or night, when he wasn't working or spending time with her, he was writing.

_The Present_

Will broke from his memories once he felt the heat from the tip of the rapidly dwindling cigarette warming his fingers. He dropped the butt into the remainder of the cold coffee left at the bottom of his mug. The short-lived hissing announced the liquid had quickly extinguished it. With a heavy sigh, Will compared the cigarette's snuffed fire to how his carelessness had snuffed out the fire that once burned brightly in his life, as he sat before the blank screen, once again determined to write.

Author's Notes:

Thanks Sanityfair and Diebirchen


	13. Chapter 13: Little Reminders

_"Love is like grass. If you fall on it, it may leave a stain and some temporary pain. But you'll get over the pain, it will eventually stop hurting. Now maybe the stain ruined your favorite pair of jeans, or maybe it was nothing special that was ruined, but either way the stain remains there. And with time, it will begin to fade, but it will always be there, a permanent reminder that you, too, once fell."_

Unknown Author

Bored. If Buffy needed one word to sum up how she felt, it was exactly that. After finishing the cup of warm, chocolaty goodness Will had given her, she'd been wandering around downstairs aimlessly.

She resembled Goldilocks as she tested out different things in an attempt to find something to occupy her time. Unfortunately, nothing felt "just right."

At first, she tried to watch television. After channel surfing for a bit, eventually it came down to two choices: tasteless talk shows or the weather.

Buffy hated talk shows. She believed they were modern day P.T. Barnum freak shows. During this one-hour of television, the motto of "There's a sucker born every minute." reigned supreme, while hosts exploited their guests by putting their hardships and shortcomings on display. Then after these pitiful fools' fifteen minutes of fame, they went back to their lives, none the wiser.

_Yeah, no thanks._

As for the weather, Buffy could only tolerate the wacky weather guy, sporting a horrible tie, a hideous comb-over and told even worse jokes in the time it took her to find the power button to shut it off. She didn't need this buffoon telling her there was lots of snow.

_Really? No shit, that's snow?_

Next, while walking around the living room, she felt that this place needed some freshening up. After eyeing the furniture briefly and knowing full well she wouldn't be able to move the pieces on her own, she'd settled on rearranging the knickknacks and pictures littering the mantle and bookshelves. Once done, she glanced at the newly placed mantle clock and noticed this had eaten away twenty minutes. She was grateful for the small distraction.

However, when she noticed the numerous dusty outlines scattered over each surface, she realized Will would notice this too. Since it wasn't truly her place to take this liberty, she took another ten minutes to move everything back to its original places.

Buffy found herself at the foot of the staircase in a final attempt to cure her boredom. Her mind had been ping-ponging between going upstairs to talk to Will and remaining where she was. This went on for a bit until her growling stomach finally gave her an out.

Grateful for the distraction, she headed into the kitchen in search for something to eat.

She opened the fridge and noticed all there was were Will's "basic necessities": a six-pack of imported beer, a few cartons of Chinese take out, a pizza box, eggs, and a quart of milk.

Buffy took out a white carton and carefully pulling back the tab. She slowly leaned forward to take a tentative sniff. Instantly, her nose scrunched from the stench of clearly rotten General Tso's chicken. Quickly, she closed it and placed it back on the shelf.

With a heavy sigh, Buffy closed the fridge and opened the freezer, hoping for better luck in there. She noticed a gallon of mint chocolate-chip ice cream, an unopened bottle of Jack, and an industrial-sized bag of spicy buffalo wings. After shuffling these few items around and realizing this was really all there was, she pulled the large bag from the freezer and dropped it on the counter.

_Well, I guess these are better than the funky chicken. Ha! Funky chicken!_

With a flick of her wrist she turned on the oven, and pulled out a cookie sheet. After opening the bag, she strategically arranged several handfuls then placed them into the pre-heated oven.

Once done, Buffy's stomach gave another loud protest of hunger. This prompted her to start searching for something to tide her over until the wings were ready.

She remembered Will constantly hiding tasty treats in the back of the kitchen cupboards. He tried using her height, or lack there of, to his advantage. However, just like his packs of cigarettes, she always found them.

Standing on her tiptoes, Buffy planted her left hand on the counter and with her right hand, began blindly rooting around the top shelf. Her fingers brushed against numerous cans and glass jars until they met with and knocked over a cardboard box. The distinctive sound of dozens of small, hard objects striking against the sides instantly captured her attention.

After a few cat-like swipes, she knocked the box from the shelf. When it landed on the counter Buffy knew, even before looking down, what it was—a box of macaroni and cheese.

For most people, tiny petrified pieces of pasta accompanied by a packet of faux, orange powdered-cheese isn't exactly choice cuisine.

However, this meant so much more. While Buffy eyed the box, her mind wandered to the time when this poor-man's meal became a symbol of her and Will's lives changing, but not, and a promise made.

_Five Years Ago_

Buffy had just finished an extended shift at the diner, due to another waitress pulling a no-show. Completely exhausted, she started trudging down the busy LA street that led home.

Between picking up extra shifts at work and a Masters level class at California State University, she was running on pure fumes.

She and Will barely had any time together and when they did, sleep seemed to be the first order of business. Well, sleep after amazing sex. No matter how tired they were they always found time and energy for that.

When Buffy saw the awning to their building, despite her aching feet, she increased her pace. Once inside, she quickly retrieved the mail, which consisted mainly of bills. She then shoved the envelopes into her messenger bag, and pulled out her keys as she walked toward the stairwell.

Eyeing the stairs, Buffy muttered her customary curses as she started her ascent. The only elevator in the building had been 'Out of Order' for the two years they'd been living there. Her annoyed grumbling continued until she completed the five flights to their apartment.

Once she'd reached the door, she hastily dropped her bag and slid the key into the lock. After jiggling it several times, since this was another thing the landlord promised to fix—it finally unlocked. Buffy opened the door with a sigh of relief as she dragged her bag in behind her.

After shutting the door, she noticed the room was dark except for several lit candles scattered throughout. Normally, candles brought forth thoughts of seduction, along with a swell of anticipation from the pleasure surely to follow. Unfortunately, being monetarily challenged, she didn't see it this way.

"Will? I thought last month we were putting off paying the phone bill, not the electricity. Shit, so is it my turn to call and beg them to turn it back on or is it yours?"

Buffy slid off her jacket and her worn, food-stained sneakers. Once situated, she noticed she'd been addressing an empty room. With a weary sigh, Buffy headed toward the only other place he could be—the bathroom.

She knocked softly on the door before testing the knob. Finding it unlocked, she slowly opened it but remained standing behind the barrier while calling out to him.

"Will, are you decent? Well, you're never decent. But you're not, you know—"

She waited and after not hearing his refusal to her entering, Buffy moved further into the room. She noticed several more candles scattered along the vanity and also gathered at one corner of the bathtub.

Her eyes moved from the flickering candles to a far more intriguing sight—Will. Fragrant bubbles clung to the hard planes of his chest and, much to her disappointment, concealed the rest of his body from her appreciative gaze. His eyes were closed, and his head was resting on the tub's edge, exposing the bitable length of his throat.

"You know, it's rude to stare, sweetheart." Will glanced sideways as a smirk bloomed across his full lips.

"I'm not staring, appreciating, completely different vibe."

Will's throaty chuckle triggered her body to erupt into shudders, causing her excitement to dampen the cotton of her panties.

Buffy took several steps forward until she reached the edge of the tub. Her leg brushed against cold plastic. Her gaze reluctantly broke from her lounging, tasty husband to look down. At her feet was the mop bucket. Nestled in the middle of ice was a long-necked, green bottle. Buffy leaned over and pulled it out. She eyed the label, then held it out toward him.

"Will, what's this? Is this the reason we didn't have enough for the electricity? Not that I mind you splurging on a bottle of Ballatore Spumante, but you know we're supposed to talk about unplanned expenses beforehand and—"

Will opened his eyes and lifted his head. While he sat up, he turned slightly to face her. Despite the temptation for her eyes to follow the rivulets of water running down his chest, Buffy focused on his face.

"I did it." Will's voice remained even but held a hint of pride. A broad smile replaced his smirk.

"Yeah, I know you did it. I didn't buy the bubbly, or put off paying the electricity. And stop smiling! I'm trying to be mad at you, and you're making it hard—" Watching his smile widened, Buffy reiterated, "I mean difficult!"

"Well, I know what the first order of business needs to be. To get my sweetheart used to the pampering and spoiling parts of life."

A look of confusion flashed across her face from this random statement. Noticing her uncertainty and to stop her from questioning him, Will repeated his earlier words.

"I did it."

"Will, look, I'm tired and so not in the mood for this game, can you just—"

Before she could finish, realization dawned on her as she put together the clues: the candles, the bubble bath, naked Will—well, gratefully there'd always been that—the bottle of champagne, and his annoying repetitive statement.

Buffy's eyes widened as her mouth became slack, clearly from shock. Will, noticing her expression, knew the light bulb had finally gone off in her pretty little head, and gave her his classic smirk.

"Now you're gettin' it."

"Oh, Will—"

Without another word, Buffy quickly shoved the bottle back into the makeshift ice bucket before rushing toward him. She placed her hands on his cheeks and began peppering small kisses all over his face, whispering between each, "I love you!" and "I'm so proud!" After a handful of kisses, she lowered her lips to his, lengthening and deepening the contact.

Will wrapped his arms around her waist and carefully pulled her into the tub onto his lap. Water splashed over the sides from their combined weight and extinguished a few candles resting on the tub's edge.

Buffy squealed in surprise from the unexpected, and not self-created, wetness as she recaptured his mouth.

All too soon, she reluctantly pulled away from his tantalizing lips and rested her forehead on his.

"When did this happen?"

"I got the call two hours ago. At first, I thought it was Doyle yankin' my chain with one of his lousy, fake accents. But when this bloke told me where he was from and then patched me through to this bird, I knew it was legit. She'd explained she was a literary agent with Wolfram and Hart's Literary and Entertainment Agency, and my manuscript had caught her attention. She said it intrigued her. Well, more than intrigued, she wants to see it published!"

"I knew all those long hours and dozens of query letters you sent out would paid off! So, besides me being married to a famous author, what happens now?"

"Well, tomorrow I've gotta go down to her office to finalize negotiations. Once that's done, she'll pitch my book to a few publishing companies. While we wait for one of them to bite, my manuscript will be gone over with a fine-toothed comb to fix any fuck ups."

"So how long will it take until I see my husband's book on Oprah's book club list?"

"Sod, Oprah! That bloody cow wouldn't know a good piece of writin' if it came in cake form!"

Buffy tenderly swatted his chest while scolding him, "Be nice."

"Anyway kitten, don't really see this book makin' a splash. It definitely won't be discussed in the New York Times. But don't you worry. I'll be chuffed, even if I only sell one copy."

Buffy grabbed Will's chin as her firm gaze bore into his. When she knew she had his undivided attention, she spoke. Her voice was stern but clearly laced with affection.

"Will, don't you ever, _ever_ question yourself or your talent. You are a brilliant, witty man who can put together a bunch of words like nobody else. If your book doesn't sell, so what? The only people losing out are those idiots who didn't read your book. Anyway, all that matters is how wonderful _I_ think and know you are."

Will's eyes misted with tears as he leaned forward and kissed her softly. Their kiss intensified before Buffy's shivering interrupted them.

"Kitten, you're cold. Let's get you warm and dry."

Buffy leaned forward, playfully nipping his earlobe. "Mmm…warm and dry sounds nice, but I prefer hot and wet. You game, Big Bad?"

"'m more than game!"

Eagerly, Will slid one arm under the bend of her knees and wrapped the other around her middle. He started shifting and trying to stand, which caused Buffy to screech, "Will, knock it off! You're going to hurt yourself!"

She then wriggled out of his grasp and pulled herself, with his help, out of the tub.

While Buffy tried wrestling off her wet, polyester second-skin, Will's arms banded around her body tightly. His mouth attacked the side of her neck, nibbling and placing lingering kisses while his fingers skillfully released the buttons holding her uniform together.

Buffy's hands fell to her sides as she savored the pleasure her husband created. She then curved her arms behind them and cupped Will's backside, drawing his body closer.

Will, who'd clearly lost patience and desperately needed to get closer, grabbed handfuls of her uniform before pulling and ripping the remaining buttons from their holes. Buffy gasped from the dual sensations of the cool air hitting her heated body and Will's hands now palming her cotton-covered breasts.

With Buffy's single whispered moan, _"Please."_ Will released the front clasp of her bra, and slid this and her uniform off her body, letting them drop to the floor.

Will feasted on her neck and the exposed flesh of her shoulder. Without warning, he swiftly scooped her up and walked them to their bed. Like the precious bundle she was, he gently laid her upon the sheets before immediately joining her.

Neither spoke as they moved in sync, positioning themselves for their timeless dance: Buffy's arms wrapped tightly around his body with Will resting between her welcoming, splayed thighs. With a mind-numbing slowness, he entered her. Their cries from this blissful union echoed throughout the room.

Will's deep and measured strokes soon brought Buffy to the edge of her impending climax. She weaved her fingers through his dampened hair as she feasted on his mouth, while her other hand reached down to firmly grasp one rounded cheek as she urged his thrusts.

Buffy broke from his mouth to herald her orgasm with a throaty cry. As her silken walls clenched all around him, he increased his tempo and triggered her second climax almost immediately after the first.

The couple moved with intense purpose, while whispered words of love and pleasure filled the room. The third time he'd felt her walls shuddering around him, he released her lips as his intense gaze connected with hers.

"Love you…love you so much…my Buffy, my world."

"Will…love you."

Following their declarations, their bodies simultaneously reached the pinnacle of absolute ecstasy before they plunged together, crying out and clinging to one another.

Silently, with the exception of heavy breathing, each basked in the afterglow of their love making until Will carefully withdrew from her depths.

His lips softly explored hers until he gently broke away and began moving slowly down her body. He placed several lingering kisses in the valley between her breasts. When he reached his destination, he rested his head on her abdomen and wrapped is arms around her. Instinctively, Buffy began running her fingers tenderly through his now unruly hair.

The couple lay intertwined in utter contentment until sleep pulled them under.

Several hours later, they continued their earlier conversation. Will now lay on his back with Buffy's head pillowed on his chest.

"So, tell me again what my talented husband did."

"With the advancement Wolfram and Hart had offered me, 've made it so my lovely, amazing wife will be treated like the goddess that she is. No more long hours in that dive, and now she can focus on her schooling, so she can save today's wayward youth."

"Mmm…that sounds positively divine."

Buffy placed a soft kiss to his chest while enjoying just being in his arms, until a thought came to her. Her body tensed before pulling away and sitting up. Her expression changed quickly from one of happiness to distress. Seeing this, Will became instantly concerned.

"Buffy—"

"Will, you need to promise me something."

He sat up, taking his wife's hands into his. With his eyes never leaving hers, he placed a small kiss to the inside of each wrist.

"Anything, luv. I'll give you the world, all you need to do is ask."

"I don't want the world. All I want is this. What we have right now. I never want us to lose ourselves in the money and fame. Whether we live here or in a mansion in Beverly Hills, I never want us to be anyone besides Buffy and Will."

"So, a mansion in Beverly Hills is what you fancy?"

"Will…"

Buffy, annoyed by his teasing, snatched her hands from his. Seeing she was clearly upset, Will gathered them back into his as his expression changed, all signs of teasing gone.

"Buffy, I don't give a bloody damn about the money or fame. Sure, it will be nice not to eat bleedin' mac and cheese and hot dogs ever again, but that's not what matters. All that matters are you and I. You are my world and that's all I'll ever need."

Buffy's eyes welled with tears as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. After placing her head to his chest, she'd let them fall which created a small trail of wetness on his skin. Will pulled her closer and placed a lingering kiss to her crown.

"Just promise me, Will. I couldn't bear to lose you."

He gently extracted Buffy from his chest, and placed his fingers under her chin to raise her eyes to his.

"Never, sweetheart. We are soul mates you and I."

"Together forever?"

"Eternity, my love. If it makes you feel better, how 'bout this. We take a piece of our old life to our new one. So whenever one of us gets too big for our britches, we have this small reminder of where we came from."

With Buffy's nod of agreement, each looked around their sparse, tiny apartment for something to represent this.

Her eyes lit up before she slid off the bed, and hurried into the kitchen. She rummaged through the cupboards before announcing, "I've got it!"

A maraca-like noise announced her approach. She stood before him, still completely nude, holding up her find—a box of macaroni and cheese.

"This, this will be our reminder."

"Elbow pasta and imitation cheese?" Will's scarred brow rose with his teasing question.

"Yes, we will always keep a box of this in our kitchen cupboard, no matter where we live."

"Right, box of mac and cheese it is then. Now come here, kitten. Though I detest that piss-poor excuse for a meal you're holding, _you_, look sinfully delicious."

Buffy felt herself blushing from head to toe. Despite the dim lighting, she knew from the way her husband's talented tongue pressed against the back of his teeth he'd clearly noticed her rosy hue.

Intrigued with his offer, she dropped the box on the floor and joined him back in bed.

The couple stayed there until the following morning, when Will begrudgingly got up to make himself presentable for the meeting with his new literary agent.

_The Present_

The smell of smoke pulled Buffy from her memories. With a slightly confused sweeping of her eyes, she finally remembered where she was and more importantly what she was doing—cooking.

Buffy slid on potholders before opening the oven door. A thick plume of smoke poured out, quickly filling the room with the stench of burning chicken. She carefully pulled out the cookie sheet, placed it on the stovetop, and closed the oven door.

She tried, by frantically waving her gloved hands, to disperse the smoke before setting off the smoke alarm. Her attempt of making peace with Will wouldn't work if he thought she was trying to burn down his house.

Once the smoke cleared, she noticed gratefully at least half of the wings hadn't met with a burnt and inedible ending.

While the wings were cooling, Buffy set the table as her memories returned.

Counter to Will's pessimistic view, within a week, Aurelius Publishing out bid two other companies. With Will and his literary agent, Lilah Morgan's, persistence, Aurelius had also agreed to all the terms he'd asked for.

Within six months, Spike's (Will's chosen nom de plume), _Big Bad: The Wolf's Perspective of Little Red Riding Hood_ hit the stores. It was as if overnight that this risqué satire became the hottest thing out there.

Whether the critics and readers agreed, disagreed, or everything in between about Will's views on this classic fairytale, they bought his book, nonetheless. It sold more than ten thousand copies during its first run.

Soon everyone wanted "Spike" for appearances. From small mom and pop bookstores to the major chains, he was a wanted man.

In spite of all this, they'd always kept a box of mac and cheese in the kitchen cupboard. Will, as his own personal reminder, kept one in his luggage when he traveled.

Placing the final touches to the table, a heavy sigh chased away the lingering thoughts of the past. Buffy decided it was time to head upstairs to get Will for lunch. Along the way to his study, she hoped he would accept this as a peace offering and the starting point of her much-needed, lengthy apology.

**Author's Notes:**

**Thank you to my betas: Sanityfair and Minx Delovely**

"**There's a sucker born every minute." is a famous PT Barnum saying.**

**Ballatore Spumante: cost approximately $10 a bottle**


	14. Chapter 14: The Breaking Point

_"Feelings are not supposed to be logical. Dangerous is the man who has rationalized his emotions."_

David Borenstein

Once reaching the top of the stairs, Buffy headed directly toward his study. She stood in front of the closed door, and in an attempt to calm her frazzled nerves, she inhaled deeply before knocking.

She shifted anxiously and awaited a response. When none came, she knocked again. After a minute of silence, she opened the door and stepped into the room, softly calling Will's name.

Buffy noticed immediately, despite the lingering stench of cigarettes in the air, he wasn't there, and she had no clue where he'd gone.

That was until she heard the faint, distinctive sound of something heavy striking wood and said wood splintering apart. Buffy walked toward the window and looked out onto the backyard.

There was Will, standing among a growing pile of split wood. He was only wearing a long-sleeved black shirt—which appeared damp as it clung to his back— jeans, heavy boots, and work gloves.

Buffy watched with womanly appreciation. His muscles strained against the fabric as he lifted the splitting maul over his head and with a graceful arc, he brought it down, striking an up-right log. Instantly, the wood split apart causing both halves to land on either side of the tree stump-chopping block.

After staring for several moments, Buffy blinked and tried dispelling her naughty thoughts. Finally, with her lustiness in check, she headed downstairs.

Even though Buffy initially felt more comfortable when they were in separate rooms, this changed when she started to feel lonely and wanted company. Well, not just any company, his.

That's why she'd made lunch, not only for herself, but for him and why when she saw him outside in nothing but thin cotton shirt and jeans, she felt the need to tell him to come inside or at the very least to put on a jacket.

She dressed warmly before grabbing his coat off the hook and exiting through the back door. The closer she walked toward him, the louder the sound of splitting wood, and his quick breaths and grunts of exertion became.

Buffy stopped and stood several feet behind him. When he finished and leaned forward to grab another log, she took the opportunity to try and talk to him.

"So Paul Bunyan, I think you have enough wood to last you until next winter. Whatya say, ready for some grub?"

He didn't respond as he grabbed another log and roughly arranged it on the stump. Will set his stance before lifting the splitting maul up over his head and brought it down with a loud _thwack!_

Before the halves settled on the ground, he leaned over again to retrieve another. At this point Buffy had had enough of his silent treatment. She stepped forward into his line of vision and stood in the path of the pile he was pulling from.

"Look, it's obvious you had some pent up energy that needed releasing, but don't you think it would be a little better with a jacket on? It's like 20 degrees out here or something, and you're going to catch a cold," Buffy said, offering him his jacket.

Will, still ignoring Buffy and her offering, reached around her legs and tried grabbing another log. When he reached forward as if she wasn't even there, Buffy knew she had to get his attention some how.

_Well, being a bitch always worked!_

"Really? So it's going to be like that? You're going to stay out here and what, freeze? Is this 'cause you're pissed at me about my car not starting? It wasn't like I did it on purpose! Believe me, I don't wanna inconvenience you any more than I already have! If I could call a taxi or hell, even walk outta here, I would!"

When he didn't respond to her mini-rant, she decided she was done. In utter frustration, she threw his jacket in the snow and with a loud huff, turned to stomp away. However, before she'd moved, she felt the pressure of his hand wrapping around her upper arm stilling her.

"That's a myth."

"What?" Buffy's brow furrowed with confusion from his out-of-the-blue remark.

"I said that's a myth, a fallacy. You don't catch a cold from being outside without a coat on. The only way I'd catch anythin' would be, if along with your sparklin' personality, you'd brought the rhinovirus here with you."

Buffy's eyes instantly narrowed from his clear insult. She yanked her arm out of his grasp and took several steps toward the house before turning to face him, as he had now turned to watch her walk away.

"You are such as ass! Here I am thinking, "Hey, he must be hungry, let me make him something to eat." Then I go upstairs to your study to let you know it's ready, and you're not there. Then I see you outside chopping wood without a coat on, and I get this strange notion that maybe you're cold and I should bring you one! You know what? I'm an idiot for thinking I could do anything nice for you without your wise ass mouth saying something stupid!"

During her tirade, Will tilted his head to the side, his mouth appearing to hold back a smirk. Buffy instantly knew this look; he was going to say something patronizing that was going to royally piss her off.

"Which is it, Buffy? How's it for me to have a wise mouth and say something stupid at the same time?"

The smirk he was holding back dissolved, when her eyes flashed with anger after his comment. He knew instantly he'd really pissed her off and in turn had dashed any hopes of engaging her in a war of words.

Even though this battle usually came during an argument, he always loved trading barbs with her. It was almost like foreplay for them. When she didn't respond immediately, he knew he'd gone too far, and she was only going to turn and walk away.

Not wanting to watch her leave, he decided it was best to keep occupied while she did so. With a heavy sigh, he leaned over and snatched his jacket off the ground. Then to distract himself further, he turned and walked over to the shed, hanging his jacket on the doorknob.

Yup, that was it. Her blood was boiling! She hated it when he took her words literally and twisted them around making her feel completely stupid.

This, on top of her being stuck there without any chance of leaving until at least tomorrow, added the proverbial cherry on top of this shit sundae.

With all the confusing feelings she'd been having toward him and everything else that had been going on, she finally reached her breaking point.

Buffy squatted down and scooped up a handful of snow. Quickly, she formed a crude snowball and threw it at him. Despite her usually poor aim, the snowball hit him right on the side of the head near his hairline.

_She hit me!_

Will was in utter shock. It was more so from the boldness of her hitting him than the pain of actually being struck. Slowly, he turned to face her.

Buffy remained standing several feet away with her arms crossed defiantly across her chest. The look on her face was a combination of satisfaction and smugness.

"Did you just hit me with a snowball?" Will stared at her in disbelief, from both the act itself and the look of her complete amusement, as he wiped the clinging snow from his hair.

"I don't know. Did I? You think you're so smart, you tell _me._ Did I hit you with a snowball?" Clearly mocking him, Buffy raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders casually.

Will, without any other warning besides a noise sounding almost like a growl, charged her. Buffy, watching him and knowing retaliation fueled his actions, turned quickly and started scrambling toward the stairs.

Before she could make it to the steps, she felt his arms banding tightly around her waist. With ease, he hoisted her up into the air while she wriggled in his grasp. Will carried her away from the house before setting her down.

Buffy ran forward several feet before spinning around to face him. She watched him slowly staking toward her with pure mischief sparkling in his eyes. Quickly, she held up her hands in front of her but this didn't deter him in the slightest.

"So you think you can hit me with snow on the side of my 'ead and what? Run away without being punished? Silly, silly, little girl. You know me better than that."

With every step closer he took, she matched his stride backward. Buffy's eyes darted around frantically, looking for a way to get around him and back into the house without being _punished_.

This strangely promising word continued tumbling around in her mind, causing her to shudder at the thought of what this punishment might be.

Even though her inner slut screamed for whatever he had in store, knowing it would be unbelievably pleasurable, she still tried tamping her inner lust-bunny down. She also desperately tried to ignore how his words had her insides clenching and how her panties were now damp with anticipation.

"Um, no, I mean yes! Yes, to both questions! Look, when I threw it, I didn't know I'd reach you. Never mind hit you! Wait, let's make a deal. I'll stand still, and you can throw all the snow you want at me. Or better yet, you can white wash me! That should more than make up for a little snowball to the head, right?"

Despite her words of compromise, he kept coming closer. Which in turn made her try to get further away. Her matching steps continued until her back unexpectedly met with the side of the shed.

The instant her body became flush with the wood, Will rushed forward and slammed his gloved palms on either side of her head, trapping her. His heated gaze flickered across her face, while holding her in this compromising position.

Buffy's gaze remained fixed on him, as she watched and waited for him to make his move, what ever it might be.

Will lowered his head, like a predator with its prey, burying his nose in her hair as he began taking long draws to bring in her scent. With the combination of his closeness and this sensual act, Buffy's lids fluttered closed from the mixture of anticipation and lust.

Even though he wasn't touching her, the heat radiating from him had her on the verge in a matter of moments.

"Mmm…let's see. So many places to start, each equally intriguing, but unfortunately, I can only choose one."

Will's deep voice, which almost sounded like a purr, made the promises of pleasure he whispered against the shell of her ear even more tempting. She felt as if he wanted to possess and devour her. In response, her suddenly dry lips parted as she felt a soft moan slipping past them.

Her inner slut screamed, _Why choose one! Have them all!_. These words sounded so loud. So loud in fact, she feared she had actually spoken them. Gradually, she opened her eyes to see Will's reaction to gauge whether or not she had.

When her gaze met with Will's intense stare, this concern and any other thoughts fell away. For the first time in years, Buffy felt a connection with him. It wasn't the closeness of their bodies creating this, but the emotions radiating from his eyes. They shone with all the feelings she'd been longing to see.

His eyes moved from hers and started to flicker across her features, searching for something—permission perhaps? Once he found what he was looking for, he slowly lowered his mouth toward hers. When his lips hovered a hairsbreadth from their target, her steady, firm voice instantly stopped his descent.

"This won't change anything, Will."

Those words sounded so distant, yet by the feeling of her mouth and tongue moving, Buffy knew it was her who had said them. She'd decided it was the voice of reason coming from the deepest recesses of her mind, battling its way through all the lust and desire to make itself known.

Will jerked back as if her words had taken form and struck him across the face. He looked deeply wounded, both his pride and his heart injured from her words. The hurt flashed in his eyes only briefly, before replaced by another intense emotion— anger.

Buffy recognized this look instantly. She knew it all too well. Will used this false bravado and swagger as a shield, guarding him against all those that would hurt him. It was long ago, when he was known as Spike, that he lived by the belief: hurt someone before they hurt you. She could tell Spike was in control now.

"Is that right? Well, 'm thinkin' me givin' you a phenomenal shag will change at least one thing. You won't be such a right bitch!"

When these hateful words reached her ears, Buffy, acting out of pure instinct to get as far away from him as soon as possible, placed her hands on his chest to push him back.

The instant he felt her gloved hands on him, Will knew exactly what she was trying to do. Instinctively, he gripped her wrists tightly in order to hold her in place. He wasn't allowing her to leave until he had spoken his piece.

"Yeah, I can tell it's been awhile, pet. Been actin' all innocent when you _accidentally_ walked in on me while I was in the loo. We both know you were tryin' to sneak a peek. There's no shame in takin' a gander but I can definitely give you so much more. I know what you need, Buffy. It hangs so heavy in the air. I can sense it, almost taste it. Bloody intoxicating it is."

Buffy's mind swam with conflicting feelings: lust, anger, shame, confusion, and a dozen more she couldn't name. For so long she hoped and wished Will would be the man he once was—one whose mere presence made her body sing.

However, at this moment he was using his intimate knowledge against her. His nearness and words now were having the opposite effect—it infuriated her.

This time when Buffy tried to move him, she did. With a shove, Will stumbled back slightly before regaining his footing. Buffy remained rooted where she was, despite being free from his arms.

"What, you think we fall into bed and everything will be ok?" Buffy tried steadying her voice, hoping she sounded much braver than she felt.

"Well, yeah." Will's face split with a cocky grin as his eyes raked over her body, finally stopping when his eyes met hers.

"You're mistaken. Sex won't change anything. It might make things good for a little while, but in the end it always goes back to—and I can't. Not again. I'm sorry, William."

Buffy watched as Will's face dropped, as the façade he so proudly wore moments ago vanished. Pure devastation was now in its place. Although her heart broke with the obvious pain her words had caused him, without a word, Buffy turned and headed back to the house.

With his eyes filling with tears, Will silently watched Buffy as she walked away. When she passed the threshold and slowly closed the door behind her, Will couldn't bear it any longer.

From deep inside, his bottled-up pain and anger swelled before he released it as an inhuman scream. The heartbreaking sound pierced the midday sky, causing the birds roosted in the trees to take flight.

Once in the safety of the house, Buffy crumbled to the floor while her head spun with dozens of thoughts fueled by erratic emotions. Soon, every thought met its conclusion. Each ending with the same question, _How?_

_How did our relationship come to this? How did our love and compassion twist into bitter contempt and coldness? How, when it came to love and men, was this her lot in life? Maybe it was, if she went by her past with love and loss._

_The Past_

Buffy clearly remembered the day her father left. She could hear them upstairs: her mother's yelling riddled with sobs, mixed with her father's ranting and the sounds of closet doors and bureau drawers opening and slamming shut.

She'd remained where she had been rooted since the fight began, standing in the middle of the living room with her eyes fixed on the family portrait hanging on the wall.

In the picture, there were three smiling faces, or more so, three toothy masks concealing the truth. Her parents always presented the illusion that they were the family to envy: a handsome husband with a lucrative career that kept his equally beautiful wife home with their lovely, intelligent daughter who excelled in school, was a cheerleader, and volunteered with the elderly.

It was all bullshit! In fact, the husband was a philander. He slept with girls half his age and unbeknownst to his family, twelve years ago, he'd knocked up his twenty-year old secretary. This left the beautiful mom, routinely dipping into the cooking sherry to deal with the reality of it all.

Then there was Buffy. At 16, she was barely passing her classes, kicked off the squad for fighting with the other cheerleaders, and she ditched "volunteering" time to go to the mall.

It was during that time she met an older guy named Angel. Like his name, Buffy saw him as her savior, someone to take her away from the sham that was her pathetic life.

As far as angels go, he was anything but. At first he was charming. He'd bought her things and showered her with attention. Since Buffy wasn't used to this type of treatment, like an orchid under hothouse lights, she flourished. After several months of dating, she had given Angel the ultimate gift, her virginity.

Once he became a permanent fixture in her life, small glimpses of the _real_ Angel came to light. Unfortunately, by this point, Buffy was too smitten to see them.

At first, he started by monopolizing her time and that eventually pushed all her friends away. Next, he started turning her against her family. Since things were already strained on the home front, this wasn't a hard task. Finally, when he had her isolated, he released the monster lying beneath his warm brown eyes and previously cool exterior.

It started with name-calling and putdowns. _Stupid, too skinny, whiny, a bad lay_—these hurtful insults replaced his once tender words. Every one felt like a ton of bricks weighing on her self-confidence and dignity.

Soon, this once self assured, vibrant girl became a shell of who she was.

Sometimes, there were instances when the old her would shine through. It was then, when Angel took care of her quickly—using force. A shove here, a slap there, each time broke her a little more.

Before long, she'd become resigned to the fact this was her life. Until one day, she'd met someone who changed her life forever—her sister, Dawn.

Her father had taken her to a fancy restaurant to meet his fiancée—Who knew you could be engaged and married at the same time?— and it was then when he'd introduced her to a slender girl with long, brown hair and big, blue eyes.

Buffy wanted to hate her. She truly did. However, when this girl she'd never met before smiled and tried to shake her hand, Buffy realized they were both casualties of their parents' tumultuous relationships. Foregoing her hand, Buffy pulled Dawn into a hug that she immediately returned.

It was from that point on Buffy had found something to fight for. She wanted to be the type of sister who was strong and independent, and this was not currently who she was.

With this newfound strength, two days later, she broke up with Angel. Then after many apologies and groveling, she'd gained back her friends and started mending the tattered relationships with her mother and father. She was on the path to getting back her life. Angel, on the other hand, had other ideas.

It started with late night phone calls at two or three am, when a shrilling ring echoing through the silent house startled her awake. But then when she answered, there was only silence on the other end. Gratefully, after a week of this, her mother changed the house number and requested it to be unlisted.

Then the stalking began. Buffy would be walking home from school, hanging out with her friends or even staying at home with her mom, and she would get this eerie sensation somebody was watching her. At first, she put off this feeling as being only her imagination.

That was until one night when she was studying at Willow's, Angel emerged from the shadows and approached her mother as she was heading into the house with an armful of groceries.

Angel told her mother he missed and needed Buffy and that they had slept together. Bravely, though she was clearly rattled, her mother threatened him with the police and slammed the door in his face. The following day, Buffy and her mother went to the district court to file a restraining order against him.

After the threat of jail time and legal troubles, Angel finally disappeared. She didn't know where he'd gone. He could've gone to hell for all she cared. All that mattered was he was finally history.

The rest of her time in high school she focused on her grades and friends. Gratefully, her mother stopped drinking and even more surprisingly, accepted Dawn. Buffy was amazed at how valiantly her mom declared that despite Dawn not being her child, she loved her and saw her as one of her own.

In the fall after graduation, Buffy had started college. Despite how strong and independent she'd felt, she still remained the unsure sixteen-year-old when it came to romantic relationships.

During the next four years and after several unmemorable relationships, she'd sworn off men completely. Well, that was until she met Will.

She tried to keep him at arm's length. She really did. But in typical Will-style, he wiggled his way into her life and even more so, her heart. From the moment she surrendered herself to loving this passionate man, her world turned from one of black and white to full living color. Everything seemed brighter, tasted better, felt more intense.

Their whirlwind relationship took everyone, even themselves, by surprise. They moved in together within a month of dating and married six months afterward. Within the next few years, they went from rags to riches and everything was finally coming together, until—

_The Present_

Buffy brushed away the fresh tears trailing down her cheeks. Even with all the time that had passed, the pain of her loss was still soul deep.

Thankfully, she had friends and family who gave her their unwavering support. They never pushed or pried; they were just there when she needed them. Alas, the one person who she'd needed the most wasn't.

Before her mind headed down the long-established path of anger and resentment, an unfamiliar realization came to her. It was true, Will wasn't there for her, but was she truly there for him? The whole time she had people supporting her, who did he have to share his feelings and pain with?

Sure he had Doyle and Giles, but Will didn't have the emotional comfort that only his wife could really give.

In that moment, Buffy realized what she had to do. She needed to be Will's pillar of strength. In the past, she had relied heavily on other people to lean on. This time, she needed to harness her inner strength and share this with him.

Taking a deep breath, she wiped away the remaining wetness from her face and stood. With determination, she walked to the door and stepped onto the porch.

Buffy noticed Will was leaning against the shed. His eyes remained closed as a cloud of smoke swirled around his head from the cigarette resting between his full lips.

Will's eyes opened as the crunching snow under foot announced her approach. His weary gaze met hers, but before he could say a word, Buffy bravely took the lead.

"Will, we really need to talk."

**Author's Notes:**

**Despite how I glossed over Buffy's relationship with Angel, I, no way, shape, or form take domestic violence lightly. I only did so since her relationship with Angel was merely told for the readers to understand Buffy's past, and it is not the focus of this story.**** I would really love to know whatcha think. *batting lashes* **


	15. Chapter 15: Laying It All On The Line

_"To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness."_

Erich Fromm

Will leaned against the shed until the intensity of Buffy's stare compelled him to move. Despite the temptation to tell her off, he dutifully followed her into the house like a pussy-whipped ponce.

Well, not completely whipped. He'd blatantly ignored Buffy's feelings about his smoking and continually puffed away, purposefully creating a steady trail of smoke behind him.

_Yeah, take that!_

Once inside, each slid off their snow-covered boots. Buffy headed toward the furthest couch and sat down. Will, following her lead, strolled over to the adjacent couch and casually dropped onto the cushions. His jostling caused the ash of the cigarette to fall, sprinkling his shirt and the surrounding upholstery.

Although the pair entered the home under the pretense of talking, they remained silent as Will continued smoking, and Buffy idly plucked at her sweater.

This straining silence persisted until Buffy heard the distinctive _snick_ of his Zippo. _That's it!_ Now, motivated from the mixture of disquiet and the ever-growing cloud of cancer wafting her way, Buffy stood, marched over to Will, and deftly snatched the newly lit cigarette from his lips.

She'd completely ignored his loud protesting and quickly snuffed out the offending item in the ashtray before turning back to face him.

"Will, we really need to talk, and it's hard enough as it is, never mind—"

Buffy's stomach rumbled loud enough to stop her mid-rant, and for Will's gaze to drop, lingering briefly on this unexpectedly noisy area.

"Either you've learned a new way to yell at me, or I'd wager you're hungry."

"Um, yeah, kinda." As if on cue, her stomach made another audible protest before she added sheepishly, "Starved actually."

"Well, can't very well talk with your stomach growlin' at me like a rabid dog. 'M feelin' right peckish myself. Let's eat."

With a tilt of his head, Will wordlessly suggested Buffy lead the way. Despite their time apart, once they entered the kitchen, the pair instantly fell into sync. While Buffy placed the salvageable wings onto a plate, Will pulled out extra paper napkins and two imported beers.

When done, the pair met at the table with their items and sat. Will opened the beers while Buffy divvied up the wings between the two plates.

Out of the blue, Will's loud snort broke through the silence. Buffy gave him a questionable look before he'd off-handedly remarked, "This sorta feels like the Last Supper. Well, you know, without the free-loading apostles."

Will's attempt to relieve some of the uneasiness with humor worked temporarily. Once their amusement had died down, they ate in relative silence and cleaned the kitchen in much the same fashion.

After drying and putting away the last plate, they headed into the living room. The air around them felt thick with trepidation from the impending and unavoidable "talk."

They returned to their previous spots on the couches. Time ticked by slowly as both waited for the other to start off the conversation. Soon, Buffy began fiddling with her beer's peeling label while Will nervously tapped a random beat on his denim-clad thigh.

Unable to stand the strangling awkwardness anymore, Buffy placed her beer on the coffee table, stood, and walked over to the fireplace.

Her gaze danced along the pictures littering the mantle. Even though these photographs only captured small moments in time, each held the happy, smiling faces of all those they loved. When her gaze settled on the last picture taken of her and Will together, the first thing she noticed was how happy they looked.

_What went so wrong?_

In spite of her current hesitation, Buffy felt it giving way to her inner strength. It rose, compelling her to act. With a new steadfast determination, she turned from the hearth to face him.

"Will, you know I have a hard time putting my feelings into words. That's more your thing. Or at least it used to be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Before two years ago, I always knew what you were thinking, feeling, and now…now I have no clue. You've shut me out, Will. And I hate I don't know, and…it hurts."

This threw him off kilter. He assumed when she wanted to _talk_ it would've been just more words filled with resentment and anguish. In a million years, he had never expected this: a heartfelt disclosure.

As her sincerity washed over him, he could feel all his uncertainties and insecurities fade away. Will stood and approached the hearth, at the opposite end.

While facing the fire, he basked in the warmth as he watched it dancing, caressing, and at the same time, consuming all that it touched.

_Just like my love for her_

Since she'd come back into his life less than twenty-four hours ago, he'd been flooded with memories. This moment was no different. Except now he felt compelled to mould these thoughts into words. Will drew in a deep, steady breath before he described, in a soft, even tone, what he saw.

"It feels just like yesterday when I arrived home after that week-long book promotion in San Francisco. I barely had the car in park before jumpin' out. I couldn't wait to see you, since it was the longest time we'd been apart.

"I remember walking into a completely dark house. Well, except for a trail of candles leading upstairs. Oh, and let's not forget the best part, your lacy knickers hangin' off the newel-post. The minute I caught a gander of your frilly unmentionables, it was a bloody miracle I didn't break a leg as fast as I raced upstairs, strippin' along the way. When I finally got to our room, there you were— wearin' nothin' but a smile. The best bloody sight 'd ever seen. Well, that was until you handed me a small box. Do you remember what you said after I opened it?"

Buffy felt the tears welling and blurring her vision as a soft smile teased her lips from the fond memory of what the thin, white stick lying inside the box meant.

"Yeah. I told you that the hazards of taking antibiotics while on the pill were definitely not in the brochure. I also remember how cartoonishly big your eyes got. Then there was all sorts of babbling on my part. Don't really remember much of what I said after that. Well, except for—"

"We're pregnant." A mirrored smile touched Will's lips as he remembered, once he got past the shock, the overwhelming joy and love that caused him to drop to his knees, resembling a man in prayer. Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and pressing his ear against his wife's still-flat stomach.

While he'd remained there, clutching her like she was his lifeline, she tenderly raked her fingers through his hair. In that moment, he had felt so loved and cherished.

Will closed his eyes, trying to dispel this memory and in the process released the tears gathered on his lower lashes. He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat before speaking again.

"Before then, I'd never really known my true purpose in life. Sure, there was my writin' and more importantly than that, you. But when you told me I was gonna be someone's da, 'm not gonna lie, 've never been so ecstatic, but terrified at the same time in my entire life."

"Will, believe me, to you I looked like I was all-calm-girl, but I was far from it. I was so scared, and let's not forget hormonal. That combination alone deemed me certifiable."

Will tittered softly as he opened his eyes and turned toward Buffy. The firelight accentuated her womanly curves and crown of golden hair. As he drank his fill, he was conflicted between going to her and remaining where he was. Reluctantly, he stayed rooted on the spot.

"Despite how scared you were, Buffy, you were so beautiful. You radiated pure happiness. It was amazing, the thought that inside your tiny body, a little us was growing."

Will then turned back toward the fire, unable to bear facing her while he'd whispered his remaining words, "And then, the selfish bastard I was, ruined it. Ruined it all. I squandered your precious gift…and I'm sorry. I know that doesn't change or make anythin' better, but I am. I want you to know that. And if I could, I would give up my life to—"

His words were suddenly cut short when he'd felt Buffy gently touching his shoulder. Slowly, he raised his tear-stained face toward her as her hand then fell away.

"I know, Will. I know you do. But that doesn't change anything, no matter how much you beat yourself up over this. I've made peace with myself and so should you."

"How, Buffy? How can I ever forgive myself for not being there for you? How can I forgive myself for destroying the only things that I'd ever given a damn about? How?"

"I can't tell you how to grieve. I know for me, there had been dozens of times I would take a step forward. Only to find myself taking two steps back the very next day. It wasn't easy. It'll never _be_ easy. The only thing you can count on is that one day it will hurt just a little less. But that doesn't mean you've forgotten. It only means you've done what that person who you've mourned would've wanted you to do—go on living."

Will desperately wanted to seek solace in her arms. However, since he felt his affections would've been rejected, he chose instead to slide his hands into his jean pockets and nervously toy with the loose change and his lighter.

"Buffy…but…how…"

"Did I?" Will nodded and was relieved that Buffy clearly understood what he needed to hear without having to say so.

"Like I said it wasn't until three months ago, before something changed. That day had started out like any other. I awoke mid-morning, and after aimlessly puttering around the house, I decided to take a shower. All the sudden it hit me. You'd think when this moment comes it would be some big, climactic epiphany. It wasn't. It was _so_ much more.

"In that moment, I realized I needed to remember our baby's life, not death. Even though we never met, you and I loved him or her with all our hearts and souls. I was at peace in the knowledge that he or she would never feel pain, never be deceived, or ever have their heart broken. All that mattered was in his or her three short months of life, they'd only known love. It was then, I knew I had finally reached the last stage of grieving—acceptance."

Will nodded slowly, even though he'd felt he truly didn't understand nor believe he would ever reach this point—not with the loss of their child and especially not with the loss of his marriage. His insurmountable feelings only emphasized how amazing the woman standing before him truly was.

"Buffy, you are one of the bravest women 've ever known."

A hint of a smile graced her lips as her eyes lowered in sudden shyness. When she finally found the words to respond, she met his gaze.

"No, not brave, just resilient. And so are you, Will. You've just forgotten for a little while."

"Luv, regardless of which word you use, the fact remains, you're one helluva woman."

He captivated her with his heartfelt words, but also with his now intense gaze, drawing her into the depths of his eyes filled with absolute love and admiration.

She desperately wanted to let herself be swept away, but there was one lingering, haunting question that, after two years, demanded to be answered.

With an unwavering conviction she asked, "Will, after all this time, I never had the strength to ask, but now I do. What happened to you that night?"

Her question stilled him, instantly filling him with dread. He didn't need clarification of what _night_ she was referring to. He knew with utmost certainty: it was the night that changed their lives forever.

Will inhaled deeply and turned toward the fire. He knew she deserved an answer, but as before, it seemed easier to relive these painful moments when he didn't face her.

"Well, that was the night Lilah arranged, for five hundred dollars a pop, rubbin' elbows with Spike. I don't think I need to rehash how I fought to get out of it. But, despite all my protests, Lilah assured me this would launch my book into the stratosphere or some bullshite like that. So, like a good little puppet, I went.

"While all these cookie-cutter people milled around like cattle, I'd spent the better part of the night by myself, nursin' ten dollar beers. All I wanted to do was get home to you. I didn't belong there. Hell, at the beginnin' of the night two security guards tried tossin' me out on my arse thinkin' I was some party crasher. It wasn't until Lilah blasted them for not recognizin' the man-of-the-hour that they let me go. The only thing remotely amusin' was after when these two no-necks tried kissin' my arse, so they could keep their pathetic jobs.

"Anyhow, when ten o'clock rolled around, Lilah must've remembered who paid her bills. 'Cause just before I was about to take off, I saw her arm in arm with some bloke as they weaved in and out of the chattering crowd comin' right towards me.

"Needless to say, following false pleasantries, come to find out he was there from The New York Times Book Review. 'M not gonna lie, I was gobsmacked. While he started askin' me about my book, my phone rang—it was you. I tried to take the call, Buffy. I really did. But then Lilah snatched the phone from my hand, silenced the ringer and put it in her bag. Before I could get it back from her, Mr. New York Times started askin' more questions, and…I just got caught up.

"Next thing I knew it was almost two hours later. The party was wrappin' up, and everyone was leaving. While I headin' out, Lilah caught up with me, sportin' a Cheshire cat grin and goin' on and on about how successful the night was. That's when she handed me my phone back, and I noticed all those missed calls—"

Will couldn't speak anymore as the memories of the unforgettable bombardment of phone messages played in his mind.

_Mr. Pratt, this is Marie, a nurse from the Emergency Department at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center…_

_Will, it's Dawn, where the _**_hell_**_ are you? Buffy's in the hospital…_

_Will…_

The burning memory of the final message, Buffy's frightened voice, finally broke the dam holding back his tears. They fell in earnest, staining his cheeks with hot, wet salt.

As the tears turned into sobs, Will's legs buckled, driving him to his knees. Buffy could only watch, with mirrored tears flowing, as Will's pain surged through him.

Despite how difficult it was to witness, Buffy knew this was what he alone needed to do. When his sobs started to subside, Buffy finally approached him and tenderly ran her fingers through his disheveled hair.

Will leaned into her hand, savoring her touch. Buffy moved closer, and he shifted, wrapping his arms tightly around her and resting his cheek against her stomach. Each relished one another's comfort.

Besides his mum's, Buffy's arms were the only place he'd ever felt safe, loved, and at peace. For so long he had been lost. Now, in her arms, he was finally found.

"Can we rest now, Buffy? Can we rest?"

**Author's Notes: **

**Thanks to the bestest beta: Sanityfair**

**The line: "Can we rest now..." is, of course, from Season 7's **_**Beneath You**_** by Doug Petrie. Yes, I know it has been used dozens of times before, but I felt it just fit perfectly here, so that's that. ****I would greatly appreciate if you would take a moment to let me know what you thought. Thanks!**


	16. Chapter 16: Where Do We Go From Here?

_"__Why__is__the__path__unclear,__  
><em>_When__we__know__home__is__near__…__  
><em>_Tell__me__where__do__we__go__from__here.__"_

Excerpt from the song _Where__do__we__go__from__here?_  
>from Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode: <em>Once<em>_More__with__Feeling_

_Can__we__rest__now,__Buffy? __Can__we__rest?_ Will's haunting words continually tumbled through her mind like shells caught on the ocean's waves.

The pair eventually made it back to the couch. Will's head rested on Buffy's lap, her fingers idly toying with his loosened curls. While he slept, his arms encircled her—one arm wrapped around her waist and the other was curled under her thighs, just above her knees.

Them being like this—this closeness, flooded her with nostalgia. Buffy's gaze focused on Will's relaxed features, almost studying him.

He looked so peaceful. Almost angelic, were it not for his harshly bleached hair and the trisecting scar marring his brow, both tarnishing his faux innocence.

She'd witnessed how people had judged him on looks alone. Hell, even she had been guilty of this. Fortunately, she was given the opportunity to see past the tough exterior and reaped the benefits of fully experiencing the inner beauty not many were privy to.

Tonight, she finally saw this side of him again. However, such as other things in life, this cut both ways. Along with the sheer elation she felt, the earlier unrelenting confusion returned with a vengeance, and it brought along a new plaguing question: _Where__do__we__go__from__here?_

Will awoke to the pleasurable feel of Buffy's fingers gently sweeping through his hair. Fearing she would stop if she knew he was awake, he kept his eyes firmly closed and tried to keep his breathing at a slow, even rhythm. All the while, he relished in her tender loving care.

He truly missed this—the connection and intimacy once shared between them. He even savored this small gesture. Now, lying in her arms, he felt so complete. Unfortunately, on the outskirts of his happiness, there were two lingering questions troubling him.

_Where__do__we__go__from__here? __And__more__importantly,__was__there__a_**_here_**_in__their__relationship__to__move__on__from?_

"So how long has it been since you've slept, Will?"

Buffy's voice startled him slightly, yet he wasn't surprised she knew he was awake. She was always so perceptive. Deciding quickly between playing possum and admitting the jig was up, Will inhaled deeply and lifted up slightly to glance over at the mantle clock.

He noticed it had been over twenty-four hours since the Sandman had visited him. Not wanting to worry her, he chose to keep his answer as vague as possible.

"Let's just say it's been awhile." Will stretched his once idle muscles without relinquishing his hold.

"Well, I knew that. What with the raccoon eyes that you'd thought I didn't notice, and especially with all the drool you left on my lap—"

Despite not wanting to move, he needed to prove her wrong. He released his hold and sat up to get a better look at the area in question.

"Oi! That's not drool! That's a wet spot from the snow!"

"Mmhm…yeah, whatever gets you through the embarrassment."

"Oh yeah! 'll show you embarrassment, when I make you wet your knickers!"

Quickly, Will's hands lunged forward with his wiggling fingers attacking her sides. To no avail, Buffy squirmed and wriggled as though trying to evade him, all the while screeching and laughing.

"Will…no…stop…please…stop!"

Buffy rose up, trying to use the arm of the couch to aid in her getaway. Despite her attempt to flee, Will was relentless. She twisted and shifted, but his hands were everywhere at once.

Even though she had tears streaming from her eyes and was laughing uncontrollably, Buffy seemed to have gotten the upper hand and caught him completely off-guard.

She wrapped her hands tightly around his wrists and tugged. When he landed face first onto the cushions, she quickly straddled his back. She launched an unmerciful attack on his most ticklish spots, paying him back for his deviousness.

Will bucked, like an unbroken bronco under her as she held him. Even with his muffled peels of laughter and current position, he skillfully rolled his body, bringing Buffy astride his lap.

Initially, she continued torturing him. That was until his hips rose in an attempt to dislodge her, and he knew she felt the clear evidence of his _excitement_.

Buffy's hands stilled instantly, causing Will to stop wriggling like worm on a hook and his gaze to focus on her. He noticed her wide eyes and teeth worrying her bottom lip. She appeared nervous.

Apparently, neither of them knew what to say as they stared at one another, anxiously waiting for the other to break the silence. Buffy's movements were awkward as she slid from his lap, moved further down the couch, and sat.

Will closed his eyes tightly in order to gain his composure. He needed a moment to sort through everything. Will was frustrated. His cock and libido were suffering from the unfairness of the situation, and the small part of his mind that still worked, hoped he hadn't bollocksed things up.

Finally, a calmed Will sat up and noticed Buffy gazing around the room as she toyed with the hem of her sweater.

"Buffy, it wasn't my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. 'M sorry."

With Will's apology, Buffy turned and met his gaze. He noticed a blush dusting her cheeks and her glistening bottom lip was faintly indented from non-stop biting.

"No, don't apologize. You didn't make me feel uncomfortable. It's just…well, I'm more confused than anything."

Her response was totally unexpected. He'd braced himself for her calling him out on his perversity and storming upstairs. But this…he didn't really know what to think.

"Care to elaborate, pet, 'm kinda confused myself."

"Well, I didn't expect you to react like…um…_that_. Not after almost two years of you barely touching me, never mind…"

Now, it was Will's turn for his eyes to widen. They first grew in total confusion and disbelief, but they remained so due to the utter absurdity of her words.

Will noticed Buffy reacting from the look of "What the hell?" plastered on his face. After all their time together, he could easily read her. She was either considering telling him off or running away. Either way, she was pissed.

Needing to stop her from doing either, Will gently placed his hand on her arm in hopes to ease her churning mind. He knew he needed to clear up this misunderstanding before things went from bad to worse.

"No, please don't go."

Buffy jerked away from his touch and with a loud huff, crossed her arms. Her brassed off-glare clearly telling him to speak and to do it quickly.

"You're completely daft you know that?"

His blunt statement triggered a gasp of what he could only guess was indignation. Fearing now she would surely bolt, he swiftly added, "This…" motioning to the straining area in his jeans "is only a small part of how wrong you are. Well, definitely not small. Let's just say a lesser part."

Will's quick wit appeared to have breeched Buffy's annoyed exterior, earning him a tiny smile. Boldly, he slid closer. With their knees now touching, he tenderly took her hands in his as his tone became serious.

"Buffy, during these past two years, I can't begin to tell you how much 've missed you."

"Then why did you shut me out?"

"I was a bloody fool. I thought if I kept you at bay, I would keep you safe. My ambitions and ego had already wreaked havoc in our lives, and I couldn't let that happen again. I thought if I changed by keeping a level head, not following my heart and emotions I wouldn't hurt you anymore."

Will lowered his gaze from hers, afraid of seeing the hurt his admission would place there. He felt her hands stiffen slightly in his as the silence between them felt louder and harsher than any explosion. The air around them remained heavy with tension until he heard Buffy's response.

"What complete and utter bullshit!"

Will's eyes snapped up, as she snatched her hands from his, stood, and began pacing while he remained seated.

"Buffy, don't ya think I know this! Hindsight is twenty-twenty, yeah?"

Will watched her pacing in front of the fireplace, her steps steadily completing the distance in three strides.

"So let me get this straight, all this time I thought my husband didn't want to sleep with me 'cause he hated me and found me repulsive—"

Will stepped in her path, and gripped her upper arms tightly. His actions cut her off mid-rant, and forced her to stop, look up, and meet his intense gaze.

"Never! Buffy, 've never stopped wantin' you. Every day. Hell, every moment of every day, 've craved you—all of you. 'Ve desired you. From the roots of your golden locks to the tips of your bubblegum-pink painted toes and _everything_ in between. Still desire—"

Without warning, Will's lips seized hers. For a moment she appeared stunned, but soon she responded. Initially, he felt they resembled a pair of inexperienced teenagers, teeth clashing and noses bumping, but soon they found their rhythm.

Will's hands tunneled through her flowing hair, holding her firmly, yet tenderly as their mouths dueled and feasted.

Needing more, his lips broke from hers. He could feel Buffy clutching his shoulders while he nipped and suckled the offered, smooth expanse of her throat.

"Buffy…luv…missed you…missed you so much…" Will moaned into her sensitive flesh.

"Will…Will…"

"Mmm…yeah, baby, Will's got you."

"Will, wait…"

All of a sudden Buffy pulled from his grasp. During the moments it took his mind to catch up, Will's eyes remained closed with his puckered lips meeting only air. When they finally opened, he noticed Buffy now standing near the fireplace with the couch between them.

"What—"

"Will, we just can't go back to who we were and what we had before. Too much has happened, and—"

Her words felt like a solid force crashing into him, leaving him off-balance. He should've known. He should've known her taking him back after everything was just a fantasy. Now, that reality slapped him in the face, he needed to pick up the tattered remains of his life and go—_now_.

"I understand, Buffy, I—look, 'm really tired. 'M gonna head upstairs for some kip. When I get up, I'll make you somethin' better to eat than greasy buffalo wings. Sound good?"

Without waiting for her response, he headed upstairs. Buffy watched as he went, her mind churning a mile a minute.

_What__the__hell?_

She had no clue what just happened. One minute they were kissing. Really amazingly kissing. Then everything just _clicked_, and at long last it made perfect sense. She stopped to tell him about her epiphany, but he interrupted her, said he was tired, and left.

_That__wasn__'__t__supposed__to__happen!_

Knowing she needed to stop him before he locked himself away again, both literally and figuratively, Buffy rushed up the stairs and grabbed him by the shoulder as he was entering his bedroom. Will stopped and turned to face her.

"Buffy, 'm tired and—"

"You called me daft! Well, you're dafter than Daffy Duck!"

Will's scarred brow arched at this strange and confusing statement.

"Huh? That doesn't even make a lick of sense, and what the 'ell are you goin' on about—"

"For once me and words are with the oneness, and you don't even let me get them out! I tried to talk and _bam!_ You just cut me off, claiming you're tired then you left! Well, you're just gonna have to stand there till I get it all out!" Will seemed to know it was futile to argue and nodded his head silently urging her to continue.

Now, having his undivided attention, Buffy felt slightly on edge. To calm herself, she exhaled loudly, prepping herself.

"I meant what I said, we can't go back."

"I understand—"

"No—no you don't. Like I said, we just can't go back to who we were and what we had before, but…but that doesn't mean we can't build something… _new_." Buffy extended her hand. Unexpectedly, she felt her cheeks flushing, and she suddenly felt the tiniest bit shy. "So…um…hi— I'm Buffy Pratt and you are?"

Will stood rooted in place, his eyes flickering between her face and extended hand. When it seemed her words finally sank in, Will gave her a beatific smile before he reached forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. With a slight tug, he brought their bodies together, flush from chests to hips.

"Madly in love with you."

Neither knew nor cared who initiated the kiss. All that mattered now was they were together.

bAuthor's Notes:

Am I forgiven? Hopefully. Oh, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. This completely makes my day, week, hell...my month! Big thanks to my beta Sanityfair./b


	17. Chapter 17: Great Bedfellows

_"__Laughter__and__orgasm__are__great__bedfellows.__"_

John Callahan

After a series of uncoordinated movements, the lip-locked couple finally ended up in the middle of the room.

When it seemed breathing was an issue for Will, he released her mouth. While he panted, she took an opportunity to tease his throat with titillating nips and opened mouth kisses. His head lolled back, offering the lengthening expanse of his throat for more of her passionate explorations. He appeared completely enraptured, surrendering to her every touch.

All too soon, Buffy needed more. Eagerly, she yanked his shirt from the waist of his jeans, exposing his chest to her heated gaze. Immediately, her mouth and tongue enthusiastically teased the new expanse of exposed flesh, savoring the saltiness of his skin.

She felt him shudder, with what she believed was anticipation, as he slid his fingers through her hair, and gently redirecting her mouth back to his.

While joined in a heated kiss, Will skillfully shifted their positions, walking Buffy backward until her legs met with the bed, causing her to fall back onto the mattress.

Once there, Buffy propped herself up on bent elbows while she watched him hurriedly strip off his shirt and toss it aside. Her gaze raked over his impressive form. After several sweeps, her eyes stilled on the impressive bulge concealed in his jeans.

"Mmm…somebody's excited," Buffy cooed coquettishly.

"You 'ave no idea, kitten. Now, lose the sweater."

His command sent a bolt of pleasure through her. She couldn't do anything but comply. Buffy sat up and slowly lifted her sweater, gradually revealing herself to him.

With the sweater gone, her gaze moved back to the man before her. She knew by his appearance—nostrils flared, jaw clenched, eyes primarily black pools of lust—his control was dangerously close to slipping. God, she loved him like this.

"Come here."

Buffy held her arms out to him, and he joined her on the bed. Will's lips tenderly met hers. Soon, gentleness gave way to unrestrained passion. Their mouths, teeth, and tongues dueled, while sounds of pleasure mingled with murmured endearments.

Will shifted and settled between her thighs, his teeth tediously nipping her breasts through the cotton of her bra. Buffy fisted her hands in his hair, holding him to task.

"So long…too bloody long." Will's hot breath caressed her sensitive flesh, causing her to shiver.

Buffy deftly wrapped her legs around his waist and skillfully rolled them. Now perched astride his lap, she took control. She opened the front clasp of her bra, slowly baring herself to his heated gaze.

Once exposed, Will's hands trekked upward, exploring her body. He seemed to purposefully avoid her breasts, leaving her craving more of his skilled touch.

"Will…please…"

Buffy cried out when he suddenly sat up, pressing his erection into the apex of her thighs, his tongue deftly curling around one nipple while his finger and thumb plucked its counterpart.

While Will feasted on her flesh, she reached between them trying to release him from his denims. Buffy felt him smile against her skin, and with a parting nip, he pulled away slightly.

"Baby, please, need you…"

When his pleading words finally penetrated her lust-riddled mind, she nodded and stood on shaky legs to remove the final barriers. Despite her earlier brazenness, a sudden shyness quickly replaced her previous boldness. She knew Will noticed when her hands stilled on the button of her jeans.

"Buffy?"

"Um…I really wasn't anticipating this so…um…I may not be…um…as _neat__and__tidy_ as you're used to."

She noticed Will's brow furrow in confusion before a soft chuckle spilled forth.

"I don't bloody care if you have two Ewoks wrapped around your legs and a Wookiee in a full leg lock! Take…those…pants…off. NOW!"

Buffy wanted to laugh at his exaggerated examples of excessive and unmanaged hair growth, but his desire-rough voice had her instinctively slipping back into seduction mode and immediately following his directive.

Their eyes remained locked while she shimmed out of her jeans. She stood before him in only a pair of boring, white-cotton panties.

"And now the knickers."

She felt his gaze burning her while she slowly slid the worn cotton over her hips and the top of her thighs. When they reached her knees, she stood and let gravity do the rest. Buffy stepped out from the circle of fabric and using her big toe, playfully flung her undies toward him.

Will caught them mid-air and brought the damp fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply. Buffy shuddered from his animalistic display.

"Come here."

Hearing the identical command she'd used earlier, Buffy sauntered toward him, her hips sashaying with each step. When she reached him, she positioned herself between his parted thighs, but remained a hairsbreadth from touching him.

She noticed his hands fisted in the comforter. Buffy relished in his waning restraint and the power she had over him. Tediously, she leaned forward and teased the expanse of his throat with her mouth.

"Now it's your turn, Big Bad." Punctuating her words, she tugged on his ear lobe with her teeth, triggering a hiss of pleasure.

Will released the fabric, tugged her forward and pulled her into a passionate kiss. However, still needing to remain in control, Buffy pulled away, sat down, and slid back until she met with the headboard. Once comfortable, she nodded, silently ordering him to strip.

Following her wordless command, he rose and moved to where she previously stood. With their gazes locked, he slowly released the fastenings on his jeans. Once undone, he tantalizingly slid the denims over his slender hips. Buffy's eyes followed his movements, a saucy smile expressing her appreciation. With perfection finally revealed, as always, she thanked all deities he preferred to go commando.

"Like whatcha see do ya?"

Will grinned wolfishly, tucking his tongue behind his teeth. Slowly, he leaned over to pull off the pant leg wrapped around his ankle.

With one foot in the air and slightly off balance, Will stumbled and hit the floor with a loud _thud._ Buffy watched with wide eyes as he fell and disappeared from sight.

"Will? Are you—" Before she could finish speaking, he popped up like a human jack-in-the-box causing his manly bits to flop around with his movements.

"'M all right!"

Buffy continued staring at him with wide eyes, until her laughter erupted. Will loved hearing her laughter. It was one of his favorite sounds. However, there were other noises she made that he loved far more.

Determined to hear them, Will climbed on the bed and grabbed her ankle, dragging her roughly toward him. While she still giggled beneath him, he deftly placed her leg on his shoulder, lowered his head and languidly brushed his tongue over her folds. Her laughter ended abruptly before transforming into breathy mewls.

_Now,__those__are__the__sounds__I__bloody__love!_

Will's tongue explored every crevice of her womanhood, savoring her heady taste. Switching between deep, probing strokes and quick flicks, he brought her to the precipice of ecstasy without allowing her to fall.

It was as if no time had passed. He elicited responses from Buffy's body expertly—her back arched, head thrown back, and lips parted in a silent cry. He knew she was close when he felt her hands tighten almost painfully in his hair, and her hips rose to meet his mouth.

"Please…Will…please."

Her pleas almost had him coming undone. It took all his self-control to not grind his hips into the mattress or even more so, drive into her in one swift thrust.

Will needed her to come at least twice before taking her. Granting her the final catalysts to her climax, he slid two fingers into her tight channel as his lips latched onto and suckled her clit.

Instantly, Buffy wailed as her legs shook with the force of her orgasm. Will continued pumping his fingers into her pulsating heat, drawing out her orgasm while his mouth reaped the benefits of his efforts—her hot, honeyed juices.

With a final shudder, he felt her body relax, followed by a soft sigh of contentment. After a parting lap to her sex, he nuzzled her inner thigh and watched with manly pride when a lazy smile danced across her lips.

Only giving her a moment's reprieve, Will began teasing her inner thighs with feather-soft caresses. Hearing her soft moans, he furthered his explorations by running his fingertips slowly up one thigh, purposefully avoiding her center, and dragging them down the other.

Buffy shifted her hips. He knew she was seeking out more of his touch where she seemed so desperately needed it. Soon, he willingly complied. His tongue replaced fingers, triggering her hips to rise in time with his laps and suckling. Her heady moans transforming into cries and pleas.

"Will…stop teasing…please…I need you…_inside_…"

He ignored her breathy request, continuing his blissful torture. Then without warning, he felt her slightly tensing under him.

"Will, why are you hesitating? Are—are you having second thoughts?"

Despite how only moments earlier Buffy reacted to his clearly pleasurable attentions, she now seemed focused on him disregarding her request. Which, knowing her as well as he did, she took as a clear refusal and probably quite personally.

His tongue stopped mid-lick, eyes rising to meet hers. Again, he wasn't surprised she saw right through him and his actions. Buffy knew he loved feasting on her. However, she also knew he wasn't a patient man—especially after it had been _so_ long.

With a parting lap, he rested his chin on her lower abdomen. "No, sweetheart, no second thoughts. It's just…well, my desire for you is a double-edged sword, yeah?"

He recognized the small crease forming between her brows. She was thinking. As the crease deepened, he swore he could hear the gears turning in her head and see smoke seeping from her ears.

"Maybe it was your incredible tongue and hands that have shorted out my brain…but huh?"

Will shifted and moved upward, placing lingering kisses to random spots on her body until his arms were braced on either side of her, and they were eye- to-eye. With a final kiss on the tip of her nose, he tried to explain.

"'Fraid the moment I slide into your heaven, 'll be a two-pump chump…" Buffy's brow furrowed more. Clearly, she still didn't understand, so he elaborated further, "ya know, servin' up an early-bird special, blowin' my horn before the party starts…"

When it appeared realization had set in, the crease melted away. Buffy's eyes widened, and giggling ensued.

Her reaction triggered Will's pout. To add to his sulking, he rolled off her and flopped onto the mattress in a huff.

"Oi! Laughin' bout a bloke's stamina doesn't help his confidence, 'll have ya know. Willy's very sensitive, and his feelings get hurt easily." With this, he motioned to his slightly deflating cock. "See, now you've done it! The bugger's pullin' a turtle!"

Buffy's stifled her giggles and drew her lips into a firm line. Despite her attempts to look serious, he knew she was still laughing hard on the inside.

Will's pout increased, and he upped the ante by feigning lack of interest in her. He held firm, even when Buffy seductively sidled closer to him. However, when she molded her body to his side, and her fingers began dancing over his chest, each feather-light caress slowly broke his resolve.

He didn't want to be so easily swayed by her womanly wiles, but they were becoming increasingly harder and harder to ignore. And so was he.

"I'm such a big meany hurting his feelings. We can't have that. Let me make it up to him. Maybe if I _stroke_…" Buffy wrapped her hand around his fully erect cock and tugged gently. "his ego, he'll be much happier. Whatcha think?"

Will eyes rolled back as her warm, tiny hand worked him. Lost in the sensations, he almost forgot she clearly wanted a verbal response. He was reminded when her hand stopped. He tried to snap out of his lusty stupor and think of a response. He would do whatever it took to ensure she didn't stop. That even meant trying to form coherent words at a time like this.

"Yeah, he loves ego-boosters. Especially when they are so…convincing…"

She seemed to be pleased with his answer when her hand resumed a steady tempo. While her words and hand teased him unrelentingly, her gaze remained fixed on his face.

"Mmm…I can feel him swelling with pride, but I think he needs more _convincing_. I need to show him I _really_ like him. Do you mind if I give him a little kiss?"

_Mind? __Bloody__ '__ell__…__um__…__NO!_

Even with his mind racing with a dozen responses, all Will managed was a whispered, _"__Yes__"_ before completely surrendering to her touch. From under heavy-lidded eyes, he watched Buffy languidly traveling down his body, tracing random patterns on his skin with her tongue. Once she reached her destination, she placed a lingering kiss to the weeping tip.

Will gasped when her warm lips pressed against his hardened flesh. When his cock jumped, he triggered her brazen smile.

Almost as if she knew he was about to comment about her cheekiness, she unexpectedly swirled her tongue around the head twice and trailed it down the shaft, stifling his words completely.

During her tongue's leisurely ascent, Will shook with barely contained lust. While the deft muscle flickered and lapped at the slit and bulbous tip, it took all his restraint to keep his hips from bucking. Her teasing was driving him to the point of madness.

"Baby…please…n-need more…"

Gratefully, she complied by wrapping her mouth around the head. The immense pleasure coursing through him caused his eyes to slam shut and his hands to grapple the comforter. When he felt the hotness of her mouth engulfing his cock, he released the fabric and slid his fingers into her hair. With a firm gentleness, he guided her.

"So hot…_Christ_…that's it…so good…always so good…"

Will's hips bucked involuntarily when she wrapped one hand around the base and the other fondled his sac. He felt the white-hot burn of his impending climax. Despite his attempts to prolong it, it was fast approaching nonetheless.

His mind warred briefly with his cock. The argument: finishing in her mouth or inside her. His mind won. With the fingers in her hair, he carefully stilled her movements.

"Luv…need to be inside…_please_"

Buffy released him with a soft _pop._ Slowly, she crawled up his body and sat astride his lap. His cock was enveloped by her heat and moisture as it rested in the cleft of her quim.

He placed one hand on her thigh while the other skimmed up her arm, slid over her shoulder and finally cupped her cheek. Buffy leaned forward and captured his mouth.

Soft exploration quickly changed into hard, passionate kisses. Without warning, Will rolled them. Buffy wrapped her legs loosely around him, settling them on the back of his thighs.

The tip of his cock brushed against her folds but never entered. Despite the almost overpowering urge to thrust inside, he waited. Will released her mouth and began focusing on her throat. While he nipped and suckled, his mind started to race.

Even though Buffy seemed more than willing to be in his bed, this all felt like a dream. He feared that the nightmare, what his life had been like without her, would soon come crashing down and take it all away.

His mind remained plagued until he felt her warm breath on the shell of his ear and her words instantly stilled his rampaging thoughts.

"Will, I love you."

He released her throat and shifted until they were eye-to-eye. Although deep down he knew she clearly meant what she had said, he needed to hear it again.

"Say it again…please…say it again…"

Without hesitation, she complied, her eyes misting with tears.

"I love you, Will, love you so much."

Sheer elation bubbled within him, causing his eyes to tear as well.

"I love you."

On the heels of his words, he slid home. _Home_ There wasn't another word to best describe this all-encompassing connection. He was finally home.

While their gazes remained fixed, Will started to move in slow, steady thrusts. With each forward plunge, he relished the burn of her scorching heat. With each retreat, he savored her muscles tightening and drawing him back in.

His leisurely pace didn't last once he witnessed Buffy in all her glory. Her eyes glazing over with lust, breathy mewls and pleas for more. Without slowing, Will leaned forward and feasted on her neck. His attention caused the flesh beneath his mouth to redden as the primitive, animalistic part of him demanded to mark her as his.

Pleasurable pain bloomed when Buffy fisted his hair and her nails scored tracks down his back. Will answered with a bite to the sensitive flesh housed between her neck and shoulder.

Almost instantly, his bite triggered her quim to tighten and flutter around him. Even in the throes of her climax, Will never faltered. It took all his power to not follow her over the precipice of ecstasy, but the same part of him that needed to mark her, also needed to sate his mate completely.

His bruising, yet mind-blowing pace elicited her second orgasm and triggered her third. With Buffy's keening wails of pleasure and inner walls tightly squeezing him, Will, unable to starve off his release any longer, stiffened and shook, following her over the edge.

With his final groan of completion, Will sought and savored Buffy's mouth. While their mouths explored and teased, his thrusts slowed until they eventually stopped. Releasing her mouth, he gently placed chaste kisses over her face— lingering on her cheeks, damp forehead, and the tip of her nose. Buffy's murmured _hmmms_ and lazy smile showcasing her apparent enjoyment of each brush of his lips.

With a parting peck to her kiss-swollen lips, Will reluctantly withdrew. He shifted the lower half of his body onto the mattress, slid down, and draped his chest and arms over her upper thighs with his head resting on her abdomen. Once situated, Will felt Buffy's fingers resuming their earlier course through his hair. He voiced his enjoyment with sounds almost resembling purring.

Will felt the edges of his consciousness blurring, as the Sandman was finally delivering his wares. That was until he heard Buffy's teasing words, quickly chasing the fabled man away.

"Let's try not to drool this time, okay?"

"Why? I think the idea of your navel seconding as my dainty cuspidor is quite sexy," Will murmured into her stomach while his finger lazily traced around the outside edge of her belly button.

"Ugh…that's so gross, Will! I don't know what a cupitor is, but I know it can't be anything good if spit goes into it. Plus, you're a pig, and since you possess insane pig logic that opinion is just plain wrong."

William rose up on extended arms, sporting a wolfish grin.

"So says she who's lying in the wet spot."

"Not for long!"

Buffy shoved Will by the shoulders causing him to turn over and flop on the other side of the bed. Before he could protest, Buffy straddled his lap. The heat and dampness of her quim intimately cradling his cock, stirred it back to life.

Will grabbed her outer thighs and lifted his hips, creating pleasurable friction without entering. Buffy appeared to be enjoying every moment. She fueled his movements with her sharp intakes of breath and her hips shifting in time with his.

"Buffy—there seems to be a little flaw with your plan, this spot's dry." Despite how level Will's voice sounded, he was barely holding on.

"Not…for…long!"

Almost instantly, she christened Will with her orgasm. He felt the warm fluid coating the areas cradled between her thighs. When her hips slowed, a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile erupted across her lips.

Totally mesmerized, Will drank in everything about this exquisite and clearly sated woman astride his lap. His gaze remained fixed while she lowered herself so their chests now touched.

"Mmmm…who's lying in the wet spot now?"

Her teasing words broke him from his bewitchment. Taking her words as a clear challenge, Will rolled them and skillfully slid into her in one swift thrust. Dual cries of pleasure announced their connection. Instinctually, Buffy's legs and arms tightly wrapped around him as his hips reached a frenzied pace.

In a fevered pitch, she cried out another climax with Will shortly tumbling behind. The tempo of his thrusts started to slow, becoming languidly sensuous, and eventually stopping. Pleasurably spent, Will dropped, resting his head heavily on her shoulder.

Their steady breaths, murmured moans, and pledges of love were the only sounds heard until Will's equally teasing word broke their continual harmony of sated completion.

"You."

Will felt her body shaking under his before the bubbling of her laughter erupted. Soon, he lifted his head and his deep baritone laughter joined hers.

Throughout the night, the couple playfully continued to "one-up" the other. During a much-needed "time out," the bed was fitted with clean sheets and they showered. However, their initial purpose of getting clean was impossible to achieve when it was much more fun being dirty.

Finally, the sated couple tumbled into bed. Each wearing a contented smile, they assumed their customary sleeping positions—Buffy on her side with Will spooned against her back with his arm wrapped possessively around her waist—and they fell asleep.

bAuthor Notes:

Cuspidor is large bowl, often of metal, serving as a receptacle for spit, used mainly for tobacco. Yeah, I know, I took some creative license here.

**So,****did****you****like? ****Please****take****a****small****moment****to****let****me****know. ****A****moment****of****your****time****makes****my****whole****day!****Big****thanks****to****Sanityfair****my****beta!/b ****  
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	18. Chapter 18: New Beginnings

_"__Every__new__beginning__comes__from__some__other__beginning's__end.__"_

Senca—Roman philosopher, mid-1st century AD

Will awoke to the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. While he languorously stretched, he savored the memories of last night. He was completely amazed at how, even after all this time apart, he and Buffy had so effortlessly shared themselves entirely.

His eyes remained closed as he reached for her, soon finding her side of the bed empty and the sheets cold. In a panic Will's eyes flew open, and he sat up abruptly, wildly searching for her.

Will wrestled his legs from the tangled linens, needing to continue his search beyond the confines of this clearly Buffy-less room. All the while he feared everything that happened last night was a dream or even worse, it wasn't and Buffy had left.

Once freed, he stood and began rummaging through the clothing strewn across the floor in search of his jeans. During his search he came across a pair of tiny cotton knickers. His frantic exploration stopped when his hand brushed against the soft scrap of fabric. Expanding his focus, he noticed more of Buffy's clothing haphazardly mixed with his. His mind was almost instantly put to rest.

_Relax__you__git,__there__'__s__no__way__she__would__leave__starkers. __Mmmm__…__on__that__note,__she__can__'__t__be__wearing__much__since__it__all__seems__to__be__right__here._

Will's mind conjured up a scantly clad or better yet a nude Buffy somewhere in the house. He smirked, sliding on his jeans and heading off to search for his better half.

Will was met by soft music when he opened the bedroom door. Following the sound, he headed down the stairs, stopping halfway when a heavenly sight met him. Buffy, wearing only his crimson button-up shirt, hypnotically swaying her hips to Van Morrison's bluesy voice caressing meaningful words, _"__She__give__me__love,__love,__love,__love,__crazy__love__— __She__give__me__love,__love,__love,__love,__crazy__love.__"_

She appeared almost surreal, like a siren calling men on the high seas toward the rocks. The mere sight of her mesmerized him. Her eyes remained closed as her body moved in time with the steady cadence of the music.

Her blonde hair was in wild disarray from hours of their lovemaking and flowed over her shoulders, some resting on the tops of her breasts with the remainder spilling down her back. Will's gaze roamed over her appreciatively stopping at her most exquisite feature, the contented smile gracing her well-loved lips. He was broken from his poetic thoughts when he heard her voice clearly laced with humor, rising above the music.

"You know, it's not polite to stare."

Buffy's body stilled and her eyes opened. Will resumed his descent and walked toward her. Standing within arm's length he placed his palm gently to her cheek, his gaze meeting hers.

"Can't help it, luv. You're a vision, and I'm completely bewitched."

Will tenderly slid his hand from her face and weaved his fingers into her hair. He gently urged her forward, placing a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips. This kiss was soft, yet passionate, as he poured all the love he had for her into this small, intimate act.

When they broke apart Will placed a single peck to the tip of her nose before murmuring, "Mmm…good morning."

"Afternoon." Buffy corrected him and smirked, glancing toward the clock. Will, seeing it was one o'clock, amended his earlier greeting.

"Huh, I guess so. Good afternoon then." He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her forward, so he could pepper kisses along the column of her throat. Reaching the shell of her ear, he tugged on the lobe with his teeth causing Buffy to gasp in pleasure. His lips returned to her neck while questioning her between small kisses and nips.

"So, how long have you've been up, and more importantly, did you miss me while you were gone?"

She tilted her head, granting him further access, as she tenderly ran her fingers through his tousled locks, holding his talented mouth to her flesh.

"Mmm…not long and always."

With a sound echoing from his throat resembling a growl, he tightened his grip and pulled her closer to his body, lifting her up slightly. Instinctually, she wrapped her legs around his slender waist. With her legs anchored around his midsection, he carefully walked them toward the closest surface and gently placed her on top.

Without hesitation he tasted the sweet skin of her collarbone while his fingers deftly slipped each button of her "borrowed" shirt from their holes. Will relished the new expanse of revealed skin with each one released.

Buffy shuddered; he believed in anticipation. When he reached the span of flesh between her breasts, he heard a strange sound, a combination of a growl and a gurgle, emanating from her stomach.

Stopping, Will's gaze rose to notice Buffy's wide eyes and her teeth sinking into her lower lip. The way her cheeks were slightly puffed out like a foraging chipmunk's, she was clearly holding back her laughter. In turn, Will laughed out loud then gave her a parting kiss before re-buttoning her shirt.

"Sounds like my kitten needs to be fed. Let's get some food in you, so your stomach can't interrupt my sinister plans to seduce you again."

"Ooo…I like seduction. However, right now food is of the good but coffee is of the better. No caffeine equals a very grumpy girl."

Buffy placed a lingering kiss to his bare chest, a spot right above his heart. Will stepped aside allowing her room to slide off the countertop. Once she was down, he playfully swatted her butt before she headed over to the coffee maker.

She opened the cabinet and stood briefly on her tiptoes to reach the glass container holding what she was searching for. She removed the lid and lowered her nose, smiling when the heavenly scent of coffee wafted from the open jar. After setting up the machine, she carefully placed two measured scoops of fine, black powder into the filter before closing the small door and pressing start.

Will leaned against the counter, watching her intently. He always loved how she moved. She was like poetry in motion, and it had been far too long since his muse was graced by her presence.

When he moved out—hell, a year before that he'd missed their time together. He even missed something as basic as making coffee. However, seeing her there, moving around the kitchen wearing only his shirt really emphasized how much.

"I smell smoke. You're thinking about something over there aren't you?"

"Very funny, luv. Right comedian you are. Yes, if you must know, I was thinkin'. Thinkin' about how much I truly missed you."

Without another word Buffy's eyes began tearing. Witnessing this, Will walked over to her and tenderly pulled her into his arms. While she nuzzled into his chest, he tenderly stroked her back in soothing circles.

"I missed you too, so much. It was dumb of me to think stupid pieces of paper would change how I feel about you."

Will left a chaste kiss on top of her head before pulling back slightly. He placed his finger under her chin and gently tilted her face upward. Once their gazes met, and a soft smile came to his lips.

"Sweetheart, we've forgiven each other for our past misdeeds. This is a new start, no longer dwelling on the past, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Now, let's get you well fed. There's a lot of time to make up for."

When Will playfully wagged his eyebrows and erotically tucked his tongue behind his front teeth, Buffy giggled before releasing him. She returned to the counter and pulled out two mugs from the above open cabinet.

She chose an ordinary mug for herself and Will's favorite extra-large, double-handled, black mug with white lettering, **_"_****_REAL_********_MEN_********_WEAR_********_BLACK_****_"_**, that she'd given him as a present for all those late nights when he was writing and needed a big caffeine fix.

Buffy turned and held up his mug. "Will, you want a cup?"

"Um…a cup…of coffee? Well, I…see…" Will eyed his mug and was frozen on the spot. The way he just stood there, he felt he'd resembled a deer caught in the headlights of a big eighteen-wheeler barreling down a country road.

"Look, Will, if you don't want one just say so."

"We're being honest, right?" Despite his voice sounding confident, he knew his eyes told a different story. He was totally nerve-wracked.

"Yeah…" Buffy drew out her response, seeming almost hesitant to hear his reply.

Will knew getting out a difficult truth was like ripping off a band-aid. Doing it quickly was the best way. In a whirlwind of words, he gave her the reason. He strung them together so fast they resembled some made-up long jumbled word, like , instead of a handful of single ones.

"I really, really hate your coffee. It's horrid, bordering on putrid. I only drank it to make you happy. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but—"

Will abruptly stopped his admission when he witnessed Buffy's hands coming up to shield her face, and her body starting to faintly shake. He felt as if someone had reached in and twisted his heart into a dozen knots. He didn't know what to say. He was worried that everything they had accomplished during their short time together had crumbled into a million pieces. Even worse, he had made her cry. With tentative steps he approached her.

"Luv, 'm sorry. 'M a bad, rude man, and I shouldn't be so insensitive. You really shouldn't listen to a bleedin' word I say. Hell, I don't even know why I bother talkin' at all sometimes 'cause it all leads to me apologizing for bein' such a wanker and—"

Will laid his hand gently on her arm. Buffy dropped her hands and his heart lurched when he saw her tears. Then something unexpected happened, she burst out laughing. He stood watching her, completely gobsmacked. He insulted her and she was laughing.

After several moments he felt he should say something. However, it was as if her mirth was contagious and when he spoke, his words were laced with laughter.

"Buffy, you're really a strange bird. Or maybe I missed somethin'. From the moment I met you, if you felt I stepped outta line, I received a severe tongue-lashing. And not in a good way, mind you."

Her laughter began to wane into small bursts of giggles, while she wiped away the tears from underneath her eyes. Her gaze, which appeared to be filled with amusement, finally met his that was riddled with utter confusion.

"For such a smart guy you can be so dumb!" Toward the end of her remark her last word rushed out followed by another gush of giggles.

Will watched her, waiting for her to continue with whatever she was trying to say. Soon she appeared to collect herself and finding her voice, which was now level, her previous amusement gone.

"I thought you were going to tell me about another woman or worse, women. I can't tell you how relieved I am that this is about coffee. Well, it's just about the coffee, right? There aren't going to be any _Taxicab__Confessions_ and—"

Will stepped forward and briefly placed his index finger to her lips, silencing her.

"No, no other women. Well, there was Mary and her five sisters…" Will held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers. After his show-n-tell, he loosely encircled the fingers around her wrist, "But, they were a pale substitute. Buffy, you're the only woman 've ever truly desired. Matter a fact…"

Will tugged her forward by her wrist and grasped her waist with the other hand, pulling her against him. Will's mouth lowered to neck. While he tasted and savored her, Buffy's head lolled to the side, granting him full access while her hands rested on his shoulders for balance.

"Mmm…Will, I know we agreed not to linger in the past, but since we're being all honest and stuff, I have a small confession."

Will reluctantly released her throat and trailed his kisses upward until he placed the last to her lips. He tried to keep his worries at bay, but he knew she could see the clear fear in his eyes. Like always, she knew.

"Will, no worries. It's nothing like that, it's just—" She took a deep breath before blurting out, "I purposefully gave you gross coffee."

"When?"

Buffy pulled from his embrace and started slowly pacing. "Well, you remember the night we met, right?"

"How could I forget?"

"So, that means you remember what a jackass you were—"

"Oi! I wasn't—" Buffy raised her meticulously-shaped brow and with the look of "Oh, really?" Will promptly relented. "Fine, I was an arse, go on."

"Do you remember the coffee I served you?" Buffy's tone sounded less boasting and more shameful than when she called him an ass.

"Luv, that sludge was like The Blob. It attacked everything from my lips to my arse and every crevice in between. I swear, even after all this time, 'm still passin' it!"

"Ewww! Okay, visual, so not needed. Anyway, I purposefully gave it to you—"

"I knew that—" Will tried to voice his understanding, but Buffy cut him off to finish her admission of guilt.

"That night and hundreds of times since."

Will remained silent while he let her admission seep into his mind before he shouted, "For seven bloody years!"

His expression was of pure shock, and when he spoke his voice raised several decibels, which in turned caused Buffy to stop pacing, lowering her eyes toward her feet. Her gaze seemed fixed on her now pointed toes, which she dragged slowly in an arc across the kitchen tiles. She resembled a child who had been caught doing something really rotten and was now being scolded.

"Um…yeah?"

Even though her response was murmured, Will could clearly hear a hint of amusement. Finally, she looked up and tried to win him over with a bright, beaming smile. Even with this breathtaking ploy, Will kept his features set in a "You have some explaining to do." look. Her smile turned into a slight pout.

"Well, at first I gave you bad coffee to pay you back for your rudeness. Then over the next month or so, I gave it to you trying to stop you from coming to the diner. But being stubborn like you are, that didn't work. And I'm so glad it didn't."

Will felt himself bending somewhat to her charms. However, the niggling in the back of his mind as to why she kept giving him horrid coffee still plagued him.

"So am I. Now, keep goin' with your confession."

"Boy, you're relentless." This earned her his classic smirk; "Okay, so when we first started dating, it was kinda an inside running joke, with me and well, me. Every time I saw you drink it, you looked like you were going to hurl and…it was really funny. Well, it was back then. Not so much now." Buffy lowered her head in what appeared to be guilt.

"Okay, you've covered our first few months together, but what about when we became serious."

"Honestly?"

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothin' but the truth, Buffy."

Will could tell she was struggling with admitting why. He pushed aside his irritation and tried to convey with his eyes, the pure love he had for her. He hoped through this she would find the strength.

"I did it for reassurance."

That wasn't the answer he expected. As for the entire time she'd been here, her words and actions threw him for a loop. This time was no different.

"Reassurance?" Will echoed her response to confirm what he had heard.

"Yeah, at first when you're with someone it's all passionate—with non-stop laughter, sex all the time, and endless I-love-yous. Then reality hits you in the face, and all that harlequin novel stuff is pushed aside. The real life of paying bills, having no money, being tired all the time, and the fights—eats away at all the romance. So on the days I felt especially down, I would make you a _really_ bad cup of coffee. Then when you drank every last drop without complaining, it showed me that you still accepted and loved me despite everything, flaws and all. Bad coffee was my way of knowing you still loved me with all your heart."

Will could hear her voice cracking toward the end of her admission.

"Oh, Buffy."

Within two strides Will stood before her and quickly pulled her into his embrace. Her head rested on his chest while she wrapped her arms tightly around his middle. Soon, he felt several small drops of wetness striking his bare skin. Will tenderly stroked her hair and whispered his love as he tried to bring her comfort.

Will couldn't stop his mind from churning while she remained in his embrace. Everything she said made sense. Well, sense to a woman. Long ago, he'd resigned himself to the fact he would never truly understand a woman's mind and its inner workings. However, even though she'd explained why, there was still one thing deeply bothering him.

"Buffy?"

With a few sniffles and a soft sigh, he heard her muffled, "Yeah?"

"The day you asked me to leave, it was right after brunch, was that—?"

"You ate everything I made, but you didn't drink the coffee. You didn't even touch it. I thought, especially with all the problems we had over the past year, you didn't love me anymore. Looking back, I know I shouldn't have let a cup of bad coffee be the determining factor to end our marriage. But at the time it was really all I had to hold on to."

Will leaned back and tenderly cupped her chin with his hand. His heart broke seeing her beautiful green eyes heavy with tears. Tears that he'd put there.

"Sweetheart, neither you nor I can change the past. All we can do is learn from it and move forward, yeah?"

"Yeah, move forward."

"So the first order of business in our new life is always being honest with one another. No more keepin' emotions and thoughts under wraps or relying on vile cups of coffee to guess how the other one feels."

His words triggered Buffy's sweet smile. Will gently wiped away the stray tears before pressing several kisses to her lips. Soon their kiss deepened and their passion ignited once more. When they finally parted, they were both left panting.

"Will, you're really making it difficult to choose between food and sex."

"Why choose? We could reenact 9 ½ weeks, whatcha say?" Will murmured against her ear, teasing the lobe with playful nibbles.

"I've seen the contents of your fridge, and there is no way I'm letting you feed me what's in there. Can I say, food poisoning, so not sexy."

"I could feed you somethin' else…" Will guided her hand to the unmistakable bulge in his jeans. Buffy cradled his cock and gave it a slight squeeze, eliciting a gasp from him and causing his eyes to close.

"Mmm…this is a seven course meal, and I'm _starved,_" Buffy cooed and taking advantage of his closed eyes, she rolled her tongue around one flattened nipple.

"Buffy, please…"

Will felt her releasing each place she touched and sensed her moving away. When he opened his eyes, he witnessed her standing several feet away in all her glory. Her eyes filled with lust, her tiny pink tongue enticingly running over her full lips, and her fingers toying with the few buttons holding her shirt together. Will stalked forward to claim his prize, but was met with her hands pressing against his chest, stopping him.

"Before I eat, there is something that needs to be done."

She headed over to her purse lying on the floor near her boots. After a few moments with her back to him, she stood, turned, and he noticed she was holding papers. Not just any papers, their divorce papers.

She made her way toward him, holding the pages horizontally with her hands almost meeting in the middle. Without a word, she tore the pages in half, and handed him one side before turning and heading toward the waning fire. She ripped her pages in halves several more times and tossed them into the hearth. The dying flames consumed the pages, causing the edges to char and curl.

Will moved to stand next to Buffy and mirrored her actions as he fed his pages to the flames. While they watched the final part of their old life disappearing and turning to ash, Will slipped his hand into hers and interlaced their fingers. Each silently offered reassurance and strength to the other.

Will thought back to when this cathartic journey had begun. When he first saw her in the snow, he believed and feared this was the end. In a way, it was. However, now standing here after everything they had been through, and especially after facing their own personal demons, both separately and together, he knew they would be all right. They had finally found serenity in themselves and in one another's love and solace in the fact that whatever may come, they could face it—together.

_The__End_

Author's Notes:

_Crazy__Love_ was written and sung by Van Morrison. The song is from the _Moondance_ album. On a personal note, I absolutely love that album!

was from 1964 Disney musical film _Mary__Poppins._

Taxicab Confessions is a show on HBO where they have hidden cameras is a cab and the cabbie asks the passenger questions, usually sexual in nature. If you want to read more, look here: .org/wiki/Taxicab_Confessions

The Blob was a cheesy, horror B-movie that came out in 1958. It was remade in 1988! Still, just as cheesy! The Blob was "a giant amoeba-like alien that terrorizes the small community", eating everything in it's way. If you want to read more, look here: .org/wiki/The_Blob

The line: "The truth, the whole truth, and nothin' but the truth" is a portion of the swearing in oath (In the United States) used prior to a witness taking the stand to testify. The exact wording of the commitments vary from country to country.

_9__½__weeks_ was a movie from 1986 with Mickey Rourke (pre-scary face lift) and Kim Basinger. Long story short, Kim Basinger's character was having a steamy affair with Mickey Rourke's. There was one part where they are feeding each other food from the fridge and it gets pretty steamy. If you want to read more, look here: .org/wiki/9%C2%BD_Weeks

bBig thanks to my beta Sanityfair, and a thanks to LithiumReaper for letting me know her thoughts on every chapter. Big hugs!/b

**I****would****like****to****thank****you****all****again****for****coming****on****this****cathartic****journey****with****me. ****Please****take****a****small****moment****to****let****me****know****your****thoughts. ****A****few****minutes****of****your****time,****makes****my****whole****day!**


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